


My Offered Heart Pardon Me

by theroadgoeson



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Language Barrier, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Modern AU, enjolras is a stressed little puppy dog and grantaire is a french barista, enjolras will always be in combeferre's debt for this, everyone just owes combeferre a lot because combeferre is a badass, jehan is the bestest friend ever, so will grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroadgoeson/pseuds/theroadgoeson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is twenty-three and is already losing his hair to stress, not to mention the fact that he drinks five triple espressos a day and only sleeps for three hours.  Combeferre is tired of it forces him to take a month long vacation.  Enjolras goes to Paris, but when he meets a captivating barista who doesn't speak English, will he even want to go back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Meeni (demonsonthemoon). She also helped me with the translation as I only /parle un peu francais/.
> 
> Also as this work is very location based I want to give a shout out to google maps for being fucking awesome. (And you should know that every location in this is actually real and actually exists, but there isn't even a street in Saint-Michel called Rue des Gres, but that's the address given for the Musain in the brick so I used it)

  
_New York City, New York_   
_East 9th Street, East Village_   


Enjolras had his books scattered all over the coffee table, papers and speeches for _Les Amis_ covering every surface and if he had school, there would be various philosophy papers and political science reports as well. No one understood how he could operate under such conditions, sometimes people doubted even he did. It was a constant surprise how well Enjolras could work with the amount of work he took on.

  
But then of course, the people closest to Enjolras would say he didn't work _well,_ he just produced good work. The fact that Combeferre could see the stark, dark circles under his roommate's eyes even from across the room was proof of that. The tea kettle Combeferre had put on sang its shrill shriek. The bespectacled man lifted the kettle from the stove and poured a cup; the blonde man leaned back and ran his hands through his hair, ignoring the few strands that fell from stress.

  
"Can you please make that noise stop?" Enjolras asked, frustrated and rubbing his temples.

  
Combeferre simply got two aspirin from the cabinet and brought them to Enjolras with the tea. He shut his roommate's laptop and set the tea and aspirin on top.

  
"Drink," he demanded.

  
"You're lucky I already have that speech memorized. You know I have everything set to auto-delete when my laptop's shut," Enjolras replied, taking the pills.

  
"I know," Combeferre said simply. Enjolras glared in response. "You need a break. And I don't mean a thirty minute one where I hold your computer hostage and force you to watch Star Trek with me while you work on your phone when you think I can't see."

  
Enjolras coughed, he thought he hid that quite well. He set down his mug on a space of exposed table and moved to reopen his laptop. Combeferre blocked him and grabbed the laptop. He tossed it onto the armchair next to him.

  
"Hey! That cost me a lot of money," Enjolras yelped.

  
"Money you can spare, I know your parents, remember. They're best friends with _my_ parents."

  
"Doesn't matter," Enjolras said petulantly.

  
"You need a break," Combeferre repeated.

  
"I'm taking one," the blond replied, taking a pointed sip of tea.

  
"You know what I mean," Combeferre sighed.

  
"No, actually, I don't. It's not like I can leave my work. Even if I don't have summer classes, I still have _Les Amis_ , I still have protests. Injustice doesn't stop, why should I?"

  
"There are other members of _Les Amis_. There's me, there's Courf. You're not the only leader. And have you seen the stuff that's up to go to court in the next month?"

  
"No."

 

"Exactly, because there's nothing. A full month, Enjolras. You can take a month off."

  
"A month?! You expect me to stop for a month?" Enjolras asked, his face twisting in disbelief.

  
"Thirty days, yes," Combeferre nodded. "You need it. Don't tell me you don't see how tired you are when you look in the mirror everyday. Don't tell me you don't notice your hair falling out. I do the cleaning, remember, I have sweep up your goddamn hair. _You're twenty-three, Enjolras_. You drink at least five triple espressos every day. Your clothes are too loose because you forget to eat. You forget to drink anything that isn't coffee. I swear if I didn't force you to eat at the Musée, you would have died three years ago from starvation. I know you want to save the starving poor, but you don't have to become one."

  
Enjolras let the words sink in. He finished his tea and walked to retrieve his laptop from the arm chair. "I'll think about it," he said, reopening Word to write his speech.

  
Combeferre threw up his hands in exasperated surrender and walked away muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "I swear to God, this fucking man will be the death of me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the Les Amis are devious little shits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again beta'd by Meeni (demonsonthemoon). There /is/ a cafe on the corner of East 10th Street and 1st Avenue, but it is not called Le Juste Musee, I made that up.

  
_New York City, New York_   
_Le Juste Musée, East 10th Street, East Village_   


The Les Amis were gathered around a large table in the cafe just down the road from where Enjolras and Combeferre lived. The whole group lived near each other in East Village with the exception of Joly, who lived up in Greenwich to be closer to the medical center on campus. When they all met, they had no idea that they all lived so close. When they signed up for _Les Amis_ and were deciding on a meeting place, Enjolras suggested _Le Juste Musée_. It was only after a few meetings when they realized they all lived within two blocks of each other.

  
They all started out at the same college, but after three years, things had changed a bit. Enjolras and Combeferre, who were in the same grade level until sophomore year when a protest at their private school got Combeferre expelled (even though the protest was entirely Enjolras’ idea, but it was Combeferre who accidentally punched the headmaster when a student ducked out of the way). Combeferre went to public school then where they bumped him up a grade. He had finished his med school degree and was about to celebrate his one year residency at the hospital. Enjolras had finished his bachelors in political science and philosophy and was about to go onto his masters. Courfeyrac was the same year as Combeferre, but decided he wanted to work as a journalist instead of getting a degree higher than his B.S. Joly was the same year as Enjolras and was getting his premed and health sciences degree. Bahorel went to college for a year because of his parents, but ended up dropping out. He now worked as bartender and a gym attendant. Bossuet was two years older than Combeferre and was in law school. Musichetta actually never went to college. She ended up joining _Les Amis_ when during one of their meetings, she started arguing with Enjolras instead of taking orders.

  
The group had weekly meetings which often ended with them eating and drinking until late at night. Currently, the table the group was sitting at was half covered with Enjolras' papers, books, and empty coffee cups. The other half was covered with food and everyone except Enjolras was socializing. Combeferre was talking about sudden influx of flu patients at the hospital with Joly. Bossuet and Bahorel were discussing a concert they went to last night. Musichetta was working the bar. Courfeyrac was flirting with her, as per his usual routine of talking up anything that breathed. But Enjolras was working studiously at his laptop.

  
Musichetta left the bar laughing at something Courf said. She walked to the table and grabbed the empty cups. Courf followed and sat down next to Combeferre. Combeferre stopped his conversation with Joly and said to Courf, "I was telling Enj last night that he needs to take a vacation."

 

"I told you I don't like that nickname," Enjolras said, not looking up from his work.

  
"I've been using it for over twenty years, you should be used to it," Combeferre deadpanned.

  
"I think he's right," Courfeyrac said, perking up. "Look around, Enjolras, there are at least five hot guys here whose pants you could easily get into, but do you notice them? No, you're too busy noticing the words on your screen," he pointed angrily at the laptop. "And from the amount of coffee you drank even in the last hour, I doubt you're even noticing _them."_

  
Enjolras still stared at the screen, but he just kept rereading the same sentence without noticing it. At this point the rest of _Les Amis_ were paying attention to the conversation and nodding at some of Courfeyrac's points.

  
"When was the last time you slept?" Joly asked, concerned.

  
Enjolras looked up then, thinking.

  
"Oh God, he has to think about it," Joly said, looking at Bossuet for help.

  
"Shut up," Enjolras said, only half joking. "Ok, I think it was... Uh, I got four hours in two days ago."

  
"Enjolras!" Joly shouted. "Do you know what that can do to your health?!"

  
"Oh he's aware, I just don't think he gives a damn," Courfeyrac said in angry sarcasm.

  
"I can't afford to give a damn," Enjolras said angrily, glaring at Courf.

  
"You can't afford to give a damn?! You're not the only person in the world fighting against the government! What the fuck do you think we are," he yelled, gesturing at their little group and standing, "dead meat?! Combeferre writes arguments as airtight as yours. Joly can find holes in speeches better than anyone I know. Bahorel is fucking terrifying; bring him to a riot and _the police_ are the ones backing away. Did you even know that Bossuet and Musichetta moved in together?" Courfeyrac's voice faded to a softer tone as he sat back down. "You care so much, but you don't know how to ration it out."  
Combeferre placed a hand on Courf's shoulder. "Courf is right, Enjolras. You can't keep going on like this. You're going to die from a heart attack before you're thirty."

  
"But it's not like I can take _a month off_ like you want me to."

  
"Yes you can," Bossuet said, shyly.

  
"He's right," Musichetta said from the bar. "You spend fifty dollars a week on coffee. I know; I add up your tab. I didn't even know someone could have a tab on _coffee."_

  
"We can handle it here for a month," Combeferre said.

  
"It's not like we're idiots," Courfeyrac added. "We went to college too."

  
"Take the month off or I will personally see to it that you're murdered," Bahorel said, sending a positively evil glance in the blonde’s direction.

  
Enjolras, throughout this whole argument steadily grew more angry and frustrated. With Bahorel's glance in his direction and vigorous nodding from the other members, he suddenly stood and shouted sarcastically, "Fine! I'll take the goddamn month off and fly to fucking Paris, for Christ's sake!"

  
"Great!" Combeferre said.

  
Enjolras deflated as the others grew more excited, "Wait, no, I didn't--"

  
"Awesome," Courfeyrac said, grabbing Enjolras' laptop, "I'll book your ticket now."

  
"No, I don't--"

  
"There's been an outbreak of swine flu in Paris, I'll check what vaccines you'll need," Joly said.

  
"But--"

  
"Where's his wallet?" Courf shouted.

  
Enjolras lunged to his bag where he kept his wallet but Bahorel beat him there and tossed it to Courfeyrac, who pulled out the credit card.

  
"You can't-- This is illegal!" Enjolras shouted.

  
"You said you would go and I know from experience you've done worse things than this," Combeferre said, stopping Enjolras in his tracks.

  
Musichetta placed a glass of whiskey in front of Enjolras. "In celebration," she said. She stopped at the glare Enjolras gave her, "Or not." She backed away, "On the house," she said with a cautious smile.

  
Enjolras sneered and downed the alcohol in one gulp.

  
"That's the spirit," Courf said, wrapping an arm around Enjolras' shoulders and shaking him enthusiastically. "You leave tomorrow morning."

  
"I-- what?!"

  
"Tomorrow. In the morning. 5 AM, it's not like you'll be asleep anyway." Courfeyrac started shoving Enjolras out the door. "You're staying at a hostel, the address was sent to your email. Now go pack," he said, shooing Enjolras. "Remember, one month. Don't forget your underwear!" he said, pretending to be an overjoyed mother.

  
Enjolras angrily turned away and out the door. Courf wiped fake tears from his eyes and said overdramatically, "They grow up so fast."

  
Enjolras just continued to walk off angrily. Before the door closed, he swore he heard Courf high-five Bahorel. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick text to Combeferre: _I hate you._

  
The reply came ten minutes later: _Love you too. Staying with Courf tonight. I'll meet you at the airport tomorrow to give you your laptop. There were some minor programming adjustments made._

  
Enjolras immediately replied: _If you messed with my laptop in any irreparable way I will make sure you are found dead in a dumpster._

  
 _See you tomorrow :)_ , came the reply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Meeni (demonsonthemoon)

  
_Flushing, New York_   
_La Guardia Airport, Entrance to Security Checkpoint_   


Enjolras glared at Combeferre as the man handed him his laptop with a smile. Courfeyrac stood by Combeferre’s side and laughed heartily at Enjolras’ expression. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled Enjolras into a hug.

  
“Cheer up,” he said. “This is _Paris_ we’re talking about. Home of the French Revolution. That’s your favorite time period.”

  
Enjolras glared as he straightened out his clothes and put his laptop into his bag. “Yes, but I still spent three-thousand dollars on a trip I don’t want to take,” he turned his glare to Combeferre, “ _nor do I need to take_.”

  
Combeferre sighed a longsuffering sigh, “One day. One day, Enjolras, you will thank me for this.”

  
“Just see the Eiffel Tower, piss on Napoleon’s grave, and eat some bread for Christ’s sake,” Courfeyrac said.

  
Combeferre pulled a frowning Enjolras in for a hug. When he released him, he kept his hands on his shoulders. “Just relax. For me, just do this for me. Thirty days of not being stressed and then you can go back to being unhealthy and stressed-out and ready for a heart attack any second. Just try this, for me.”

  
Enjolras sighed, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. “Fine. Fine. I’ll try, no guarantees though.”

  
Combeferre looked like he was about to say something when Courfeyrac said, “C’mon that’s the best we’re going to get. Just let him get on his freaking flight.”

  
Another round of hugs was made before Enjolras stepped into the security line.

 

  
_Flushing, New York_   
_La Guardia Airport, Terminal B, Gate 14_   


Enjolras sat down at the crowded gate and pulled out his laptop, hoping to get some work done before his actual vacation started. He turned on the power and logged on when a welcome screen came up. It was obviously written after a few rounds of shots. Enjolras suspected Courf was the one who wrote the welcoming statement.

  
**Bonjoyr, Enj. We madfe sfome progframming adjustmentss to your compuyter so you don;t cheat on your tirp.**

  
A steadier hand took over then.

  
**You won’t be able to access any of your documents, spreadsheets, or power-points-- or even open the programs for that matter. You’re only allowed to use the internet for tourism and sightseeing websites or porn. The only other program that can be used for the next thirty days is Skype. We want daily updates.**

**You’ll thank us later.**

**\-- Les Amis.**

  
Enjolras glared at the screen for at least five minutes. He then slammed the thing shut and shoved it back in his bag. He knew he was acting like a petulant child, but frankly, at this point he didn’t care. He sighed before he walked to a bookstore across from his gate.

  
He looked around on theshelves for a while. He decided he would buy a biography of Cesar Chavez and a basic French book. He paid the cashier and went back to his gate.

He sat down and started reading. When they were boarded he continued reading. During his layover he continued reading. During the second leg of his trip he continued reading. It was only until he finished the book with five minutes left to land that he thought, _Shit, what am I going to do now?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is forced to go sightseeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful Meeni (demonsonthemoon) for being an A+ beta and translator. (I've only taken two years of French, not nearly enough to write for this without her help, so she's like three-quarters of the reason this exists.)

  
_Day One_   
_Paris, France_   
_102 Rue Gabriel Peri, Saint-Denis_   


Enjolras had flown for fifteen hours and arrived at the hotel at five AM. It wasn’t really _that_ early for him, but the flight had exhausted him so he got to the small room furnished only with a full-sized bed, a small desk, and a three drawer dresser with a small TV on top and collapsed on the bed. It was like changing time zones made his body realize exactly how tired he was.

  
He slept until noon. He woke groggily and walked blearily to the bathroom. He stripped his clothes off and stepped into the shower. The hot water was very effective in waking him up and when he stepped out he was refreshed and if he were home, he’d be ready to start a revolution. But he wasn’t, so he settled for checking his phone. There were five missed calls and ten texts.

  
 **From Courfeyrac:** did u land yet?  
 **From Courfeyrac:** answer ur phone man  
 **From Courfeyrac:** the only excuse ill accept for this is that u already got some french ass  
 **From Combeferre:** Courf says you’re not answering your phone. This is good.  
 **From Courfeyrac:** if u did get some french ass i expect full details.  
 **From Combeferre:** I hope you’re getting rest.  
 **From Joly:** Ferre said you should have landed by now. Make sure you use hand sanitizer, I heard that French subways are really dirty.  
 **From Courfeyrac:** its been 4 hrs since u landed  
 **From Courfeyrac:** must be sum good sex  
 **From Courfeyrac:** does he have a brother? sister? hot cousin?

Enjolras sighed as he pulled on a shirt. He typed out a quick text to Courfeyrac.

  
 **To Courfeyrac:** I didn’t have sex at 5AM. I was sleeping.

A call came not a minute later. Enjolras answered.

  
“I heard you slept,” Combeferre said. “He _slept?!”_ Bahorel yelled from the background.

  
“Are you in the _Musée?”_

  
“Yeah, we’re gossiping about you,” Combeferre joked. “Musichetta called us a group of old ladies.”

  
Enjolras heard a fight for the phone. “Enjolras!” Courfeyrac yelled. The others chimed in, signaling him that he was on speaker.

  
“Hi guys,” he said.

  
“So you didn’t immediately hop on the hot French boys over there, I’m disappointed in you.”

  
“But I was sleeping, wasn’t that what the whole vacation was for.”

  
“Yes, but also we wanted you to have some fun. What time is it over there anyway?”

  
“Noon,” Enjolras answered.

  
“You slept until twelve?!” Joly shouted happily.

  
“It’s six AM here,” Courf said, then added, “Joly woke us all up two hours ago because he thought he had pneumonia then we couldn‘t go back to sleep.”

  
“I didn’t even know the Musée opened that early.”

  
“Musichetta had keys and made us all some lovely lattes.”

  
“So what do you plan on doing today?” Bossuet asked, punctuating the sentence with a yawn.

  
“I don’t really know,” Enjolras answered truthfully. “I bought a book at the airport but I finished it on the plane.”

  
“You were planning on _reading_ the whole trip?” Courfeyrac asked, shocked.

  
“Well, I don’t really know what to do here. I bought a French dictionary just in case but…”

  
“Great!” Courf interrupted.

  
“Go sightseeing,” Joly followed.

  
“You have to see the Eiffel Tower,” Musichetta added. “It’s iconic.”

  
“Notre Dame?” Combeferre suggested.

  
“You can’t just sit in your hotel room for a month,” Bahorel said.

  
Enjolras feeling a bit overwhelmed with the influx of voices. “Wait--”

  
“Nope. No protestations from you, my dear,” Musichetta said.

  
“You’re going out even if it means we have to fly there ourselves,” Bahorel added.

  
“Get up, get dressed, you’re going to see Paris,” Courf said.

  
“And we want photographic proof,” Combeferre added smugly, the smartass.

  
“Fine, fine, I’ll go out, you assholes,” Enjolras said, relenting.

  
“Good. Now stop talking to us when you should be sightseeing,” Courfeyrac replied.

  
Enjolras sighed and hung up.

  
He opened his computer and logged on. The infernal welcoming screen popped up again. He glared as he closed it. He opened up the internet where he discovered his friends also happened to change his home page to a porn site. He looked up to the heavens and cursed his entire friend group to eternal damnation.

  
He sighed as he searched for landmarks in Paris. He jotted down a few on a sticky note. He went to Google maps and found metro routes which he wrote down as well. He grabbed his messenger bag and put his wallet, the pocket French book, and his laptop (he never went anywhere without it; it was often joked that Enjolras had two mistresses, Patria and his computer). He tucked his phone into his pocket, went downstairs and stepped into the street.

  
He walked about ten minutes until he got to the metro station where he bought his ticket. Luckily there was an option to have the instructions in English. This transit was going to be the longest of the day: one hour total with two line changes. He got on the train and found a seat in the back, if he was going to be here for an hour, it definitely wouldn’t be standing.  
He sat in silence for a while before he remembered the whole “photographic evidence” thing. Enjolras sneered at the thought but pulled out his phone anyway. He tried looking like he was texting while he snapped a quick photo of the creepy plumber sitting across from him. He sent it to Combeferre with the text, _hour long subway ride across from this guy._

Apparently the group was still at the Musée because about five minutes later Courf texted him: _hes cute. u should ask for his nombre lol. ;)_

  
He texted back, _I think that’s Spanish, Courf._

  
_same difference. they both derive from latin._

  
Enjolras didn’t grace that with a reply. Eventually it was time for him to get off the subway and walk to the Eiffel Tower. He arrived there and looked up. It was kind of a let down, really. It was pretty big tower, but he wasn’t sure why it was so world famous. He stood in front of it and turned his phone around, snapping a picture of him (not smiling) with the tower in the background. He sent it to Combeferre, assuming that if they weren’t still a the Musée, he would make sure the others saw it somehow. The text read: _Actually not that impressive_. The replies came within moments.

  
 **From Joly:** But its an engineering marvel!  
 **From Musichetta:** Smile you look like youre about to murder a puppy.  
 **From Bossuet:** But it’s beautiful! Look at it!  
 **From Courfeyrac:** Cheer up. Paris! Remember.  
  
Enjolras huffed a laugh as he read them. He checked the sticky note with places to go and decided on _Hôtel des Invalides_ where, he read, Napoleon was buried. As he walked the twenty minute trek there, he (not very seriously) considered Courf’s suggestion to piss on his grave. When he got there he spent a good ten minutes turning the full force of his glare on the casket before flipping it off and taking a picture of the moment. He sent the photo as he was walking out.

  
He was on the metro to _Notre Dame_ when his phone rang.

  
“Tell me you got kicked out for that,” Courf said, a bit too much hope in his voice.

  
“No,” Enjolras replied, “I left before they could do anything. But I did catch a few shocked faces.”

  
Courf laughed. “Shame. I’ll make sure you get kicked out of somewhere before you get back.”

  
Enjolras shook his head, the thought of _why the fuck did I chose_ this _group of friends_ evident on his face. “Don’t get him kicked out of anywhere, Courf,” he heard Combeferre chime in.

 

“You know if you try to stop me, I’ll only try to get him banned from somewhere,” he replied, turning away from the phone.

  
“Don’t try to get me banned or kicked out,” Enjolras said.

  
Courfeyrac just laughed and hung up. Enjolras, not for the last time that day, cursed his friends to damnation.

  
He got off the metro and walked to the cathedral. When he was inside he took a picture of the rose window and sent it. A few minutes later he received a text from Bossuet as he was walking past the prayer chapel. He opened it and an audio clip of the last line of _The Bells of Notre Dame_ started playing. He jumped but recovered quickly enough to turn off the music. He hid his face in his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He looked up to see a majority of the people around him either staring open-mouthed or gaping at him. He apologized briefly and quickly walked out of the church.

  
As he angrily walked away, not really paying attention to where he was going, he pulled out his phone about to type an angry reply when Bossuet texted, _omg I’m so sorry Courf stole my phone and sent that I really hope you don’t get kicked out._

  
He replied, _Don’t worry, I left before they could do anything._

  
Then he sent to Courf, _fuck you very much._

  
_Had fun with that?_

  
_The amount of glares I received may have caused permanent damage to my pride._

  
_aw the poor angry puppy :’(_

  
Enjolras didn’t reply.

  
At that moment he walked past a small café, but stopped when he smelled a delicious platter of heaven-flavored food being brought out to the terrace. His stomach growled and he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He turned around and walked into the café.

  
He sat down at the bar. He looked around and saw that the man tending the bar was more than a little attractive. Dark haired and blue eyed and he had colorful tattoo sleeves on both arms. He was laughing at something his friend and fellow waiter had just said and goddamn it if that wasn‘t the best sound Enjolras heard in his entire life. The waiter looked around and noticed Enjolras. He walked up to him and said quickly, “ _Bonjour, monsieur. Je m’appelle Grantaire. Que désirez-vous aujoud‘hui?_ ”

  
Enjolras blanched and started fumbling in his bag for his French book. Grantaire laughed again, “ _Ah, vous êtes américain_.” He smiled as he switched to heavily-accented English, “Hello, my name’s Grantaire. What can I get you today?”

  
Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh God, sorry I don’t speak French. Can I get an espresso and…” he glanced at the menu on the chalk board above him. Everything was in French so he just went with what appeared to be the daily special ( _plat du jour_?) “Um… and the boeuf en Daube,” he said (with terrible pronunciation).

  
Grantaire laughed at his valiant effort to speak just that little bit of French. “ _Très bon choix_. I will get that for you.” He turned to the kitchen window behind the bar and shouted to the chef, “ _Une commande de boeuf en daube avec un espresso_.” He smiled at Enjolras again as he walked back to his friend.

  
Enjolras saw him say something under his breath and his friend laughing in response. The next thing he knew they were both walking up to him and Grantaire was leaning on the bar. The friend, who had long blonde hair tied in a braid and was wearing floral patterned boots to give a splash of color to his all black uniform, was smiling sweetly at Enjolras. Enjolras was very confused.

  
The friend spoke then, _“Bonjour,_ my name is Jehan and Grantaire asked me to translate a conversation with you two.”

  
Grantaire turned to his friend and said in a half-sarcastic, half-sincere tone, “ _Parce qu‘il est comme Apollon incarné, n‘oublie pas ça, c‘est la partie la plus importante_.”

  
Jehan laughed and continued, “Because, according to him, you’re like Apollo incarnate.”

  
Enjolras’ smile slowly spread across his face. “Okay, Grantaire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all places are real. The Musain itself is located on Rue de Grès (which doesn't exist, but that Hugo said, so I'm going with it), but there is a cafe on 3 Place Saint-Michel near where the Musain would be called Saint-Séverin (apparently it's great if you're French, not so great if you're not). Also, all times given are accurate transit times for certain routes. The hostel Enjolras is staying at is also real, called Eurohotel St Denis on the same address given. The reviews made it sound pretty shitty and I figured the Les Amis would want to give Enjolras even more of an excuse to get out with a crap hotel.  
> My tumblr is montparn-assbutt and feed back is greatly appreciated and loved.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is where I made the possibly risky choice to keep all the original French in the conversation. I'd like to take a moment to say I did this because I wanted the reader to have to experience the same language barrier Enjolras has to and have to rely on the translations in the text. There are some things in French that aren't translated to emphasize this. Obviously, if you understand French this is no matter to you, but if you don't, you do not have to go to a translator to understand (I mean, you can if you want, but it's not necessary).
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely Meeni (demonsonthemoon.tumblr.com) for being a brilliant translator and beta.

  
_Paris, France_   
_Le Café Musain, Rue de Grès_   


“ _Je n‘ai pas saisi votre nom, monsieur_ ,” Grantaire said, still leaning on the bar, almost too close to Enjolras. He found he didn’t mind. The place was practically empty at this time of day, so Grantaire assumed he could have at least an hour with this guy (well, and with Jehan).

  
“He asked what’s your name,” Jehan translated. He had always enjoyed watching people flirt; it felt like a prelude to a great romance.

 

“Enjolras. But you spoke English to take my order, why do you need a translator now?”

  
“ _Son nom est Enjolras et il veut savoir pourquoi tu as besoin de moi si tu as parlé en anglais pour prendre sa commande._ ”

  
“ _C‘est un nom français_ ,” Grantaire said to Jehan. “ _Et tu connais le reponse à cette question. Tu es plus doué pour ce qui est de l‘esthétique._ ”

  
Jehan laughed and said to Enjolras, “He only speaks enough English to take orders, not nearly enough to hold a conversation. He also noticed your name is French.”

  
“Yeah, my grandparents were French, but they died before they could teach me much. I pretty much only know hello, thank you, and that _Les Amis de l’ABC_ is a pretty good pun for a student activist group.”

  
“ _Ses grand-parents étaient français, mais ils n‘ont jamais eu l‘occasion de lui apprendre. Il fait partie d‘un groupe d‘activisime étudiant. Tu es sûr que tu veut continue la conversation?” Jehan asked with a raised eyebrow. “Je sais ce que tu penses de ce genre de choses._ ”

  
“ _Activisime étudiant, hein? Demande-lui ce que font exactement ‘Les Amis de l‘Abaissés._ ’”

  
“What does your group do, exactly?”

  
“Well, we mostly hold protests and rallies for causes we believe in. We try to get transformative bills to pass through senate. We’ve made a lot of progress in the three years we’ve been active and we hope to do more,” Enjolras said, his voice transforming to professional and promotional.

  
“ _Ils organisent des protestations et des rassemblemonts, essayent de faire passer de lois. Apparemment ils ont fait pas mal de choses. Ils sont actifs depuis trois ans._ ”

  
Grantaire scoffed and Enjolras cocked an eyebrow in response. “ _Ce n‘est rein_ ,” Grantaire brushed it off. “ _Qu‘est-ce que vous amènent à Paris?_ ”

  
“What are you doing in Paris?”

  
Enjolras laughed. “Apparently I was working too hard so my friends forced me on a month long vacation. I just flew in this morning.”

  
“ _Ses amis l‘ont forcé à prendre un mois de vacances. Il est arrivé par avion ce matin. Dis-moi, R, tu essaye de bâtir une relation avec ce type, ou c‘est juste un coup d‘un soir?_ ”

  
“ _Qui sait, on va voir ce qui ça devient._ ” Grantaire turned and said to Enjolras, “ _Donc j‘ai le droit de passer un mois entier avec toi?_ ”

  
Enjolras looked to Jehan for translation. “He asked if he gets the whole month with you then.”

  
Enjolras laughed. “Now who said that?”

  
“ _Qui a dit ça?_ ”

  
“ _Peut-être que je suis presumptuous, mais quand la plupart des gens sourient comme ça, ce n‘est pas souvent un simple sourire amical entre un client et son serveur. Mais peut-être que tu décides de flirter avec tous les beaux serveurs que tu recontres._ ”

  
“ _Tu es ridicule_. Direct translation: ‘Maybe I’m presumptuous, but most smiles like that are not friendly customer-waiter smiles. But maybe you flirt with all the hot waiters you come across.’”

  
“Maybe, Grantaire. But I doubt any of my waiters went through the trouble of having a friend translate a foreign language just to get my number.”

  
“ _Peut-être. Mais il doute que tous les serveurs s‘arrangent pour qu‘un ami tranduise un conversation juste pour avoir un numéro. Je n‘arrive pas à croire que je fais pour toi._ ”

  
“ _C‘est à ça que servent les amis, non?_ ” Grantaire told Jehan with a laugh. “ _Mais qui a dit que je voulais juste un numéro? Peut-être que je cherchais une conversation intéressante._ ”

  
“Maybe he just wanted interesting conversation, not just a number.”

  
“In that case, tell me more about yourself. All I know is that you work in a café and never learned English.”

  
“ _Il veut en savoir plus sur toi._ ”

  
“ _Et qu‘est-ce que tu veux savoir, exactement, Apollon?_ ” Enjolras caught the nickname, and cocked an eyebrow in Grantaire’s direction.

  
“What exactly do you want to know?”

  
“Why are you working at a café?”

  
“ _Il veut savoir pour quoi tu as choisi de travailler ici. A part pour le fait de m‘avoir comme collègue, bien sûr._ ”

  
Grantaire turned to Enjolras. “It is home. _Je finis toujour par me retrouver ici_.”

  
Enjolras smiled at the sentiment. The chef yelled from the kitchen, “ _Arrête de drageur et sers-lui sa nourriture!_ ”

  
Grantaire laughed and grabbed the food and coffee and set it in front of Enjolras. “Your food, _mon coeur_.”

  
Enjolras definitely didn’t blush when Grantaire winked at him and walked off to serve a couple who just walked in, followed by a laughing Jehan. He pulled out his French book and resolved to learn at least a little of the language for this man. As the café slowly got busier, they would exchange glances and smiles, but they didn’t have a chance to pick up their conversation.  
After about an hour and half Courfeyrac texted.

  
 _Dude u havent texted 4 like 2 hrs._  
 _I’m in a café and there’s a really hot waiter flirting with me but he doesn’t speak English._  
 _Wait. But then how is flirting with u?_  
 _He has a friend who speaks English and he’s translating._  
 _Wow dedication,_ he replied. _Then another text came, is the friend hot too?_  
 _You’d like him._  
 _Send a pic._  
 _Of who, the friend or the waiter?_  
 _Both._

  
Enjolras sighed. He waited for the two men to be standing next to each other and then snapped a picture as secretly as he could. Grantaire walked into the kitchen then, but Jehan turned around and winked conspiringly at Enjolras. Enjolras avoided eye contact at that point as he sent the text underneath the table.

  
_Tell me the friend is the guy w/ the braid cuz thats the one i like._   
_Yeah, he seems pretty cool._

_I want to meet these men. Get them on skype asap._

  
Enjolras looked up then. Grantaire had come to clear his plate. “Do you want another coffee?” he asked with a smile.

  
“ _Non, merci_.” Grantaire’s smile grew at the use of French. “ _Mais je veux continuer notre conversation_.”

  
Grantaire pointed at the book, “ _Tu t‘es entrainé_.” A woman, dressed in the same standard black uniform walked in then. Grantaire waved to her. “ _Laisse-moi juste demander à Éponine de prendre ma place pour le dix dernières minutes de mon horaire_.”

  
Enjolras was visibly confused. “I didn’t learn that much.”

  
Grantaire laughed (Enjolras decided that was the only sound he ever wanted to hear again) and held up a finger in waiting as he rushed to Éponine and said something quickly to her. They glanced in Enjolras direction and Éponine laughed and nodded her head.

  
Grantaire walked back to Enjolras and sat down in the bar stool next to him. “ _Je suis de retour_ ,” he said.

  
Enjolras grinned broadly. Maybe this vacation would turn out to be a good thing. Grantaire’s smile widened in response to Enjolras’.

  
This vacation was turning out to be a _very_ good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't like the way I wrote it with all the French, please tell me in comments or on my tumblr (montparn-assbutt.tumblr.com). Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I apologize for the long wait. I was hit with a bout of writer's block, but I overcame it.  
> Secondly, there is less French in this chapter than the last, but it's not translated in text so translations will be at the end.
> 
> Once again thanks to my beautiful beta and translator, Meeni (demonsonthemoon.tumblr.com)

  
_Paris, France_   
_Le Café Musain, Rue des Grès_   


The two men sat and talked for hours. The conversation was stunted, having to rely on online translators and Enjolras’ French book, but over the course of three hours, Enjolras managed to learn more French than he thought he ever would and Grantaire could now easily understand most of what Enjolras said and speak haltingly.

  
Enjolras had learned that Grantaire went to art school in Paris but left after two years. He wouldn’t say why and his smile became sharper around the corners when Enjolras asked. He worked at the Musain afterwards with Jehan and Éponine although he still painted and when he was up for it (and Enjolras was beginning to expect that “up for it” meant “sober enough for it” by the amount of whiskey he drank during this discussion) he would sell his art on street corners. He never really learned English because 1) he didn’t own a TV, 2) he skipped half his classes in high school, English being one of them, and 3) it was never really a problem before. But, according to the brunette he now had plenty motivation, a sentence spoke in low baritone voice made rough with alcohol and punctuated with a wink over the rim of a tumbler.

  
Grantaire had learned about Enjolras’ degree which earned a scoff, which in turn ignited an argument, half in French, half in English, but was mostly attempting (and failing) to keep their voices down. Jehan broke it when he placed an espresso in front of Enjolras and a refill of whiskey in front of Grantaire. They continued to glare at each other, but eventually the conversation turned to lighter topics. Grantaire learned that Enjolras’ favorite color is red and laughed at that because _“prévisible.”_ Enjolras talked happily about his friends and Grantaire said he would love to talk to them sometime. Enjolras asked if he was sure.

  
Enjolras felt properly relaxed for the first time in years.

  
The pair talked for three hours and the café slowly emptied around them. They stayed the constant in the waves of customers and passersby. The fumes of cigarette smoke and brewing coffee swelled around them, but they remained untouched and isolated. They did not touch. They remained separated by an invisible force. They talked through it and their closeness grew in the space. There they remained.

  
Grantaire leaned back, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting it. The smoke curled through the air and caressed Enjolras’ face.

  
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Grantaire asked, leaning back in. Closer, but not breaching that space that kept them separated.

  
Enjolras thought for a moment, his brows knitting together. “ _Je ne sais pas_ , my friends gave me some ideas, _mais j’ai fait tout aujourd’hui_.”

  
“I could show you around Paris,” Grantaire suggested. “The stuff not in the tourist books.”

  
“That… I’d love it,” Enjolras stuttered, smiling sweetly. _“Merci.”_

  
“ _C’est rien_ ,” Grantaire replied. He looked around the restaurant and noticed that it was empty. He noticed that Jehan was cleaning the bar and Éponine was clearing the tables in the non-smoking section. He checked his watch and laughed; Enjolras raised an eyebrow in questioning. “The café has been closed for thirty minutes.”

  
Enjolras swore softly and started gathering up his stuff. Grantaire rose with him and gently grabbed his wrist. Enjolras looked up, startled from his frantic item-gathering. “Can I walk you to your hotel?”

  
Enjolras nodded. He finished packing his stuff and placed money for his coffee and a heavy tip on the table. He turned and Grantaire walked him out, a hand hesitantly laid on his waist. When they were on the street, Grantaire removed his hand in favor of lighting another cigarette. Enjolras found he missed the warmth.

  
They walked in comfortable silence, both already felt safe and secure in the other’s presence. They did not touch; the space between them that was momentarily breeched returned. Their shoulders were close, not close enough to bump together. Their hands swung slightly, fingers reaching out minutely but never intertwining. The smoke from Grantaire’s cigarette curled away from them, fading into the night sky; the stars appeared to drink up the white tendrils like whiskey. They exchanged glances, never speaking, maybe smiling, the corners of their mouth turning upward just barely, never enough for either of them.

  
Soon, too soon, they reached the hostel. They paused on the dimly lit doorstep hidden in the shade of a tree. They turned to face each other, the space still there.

  
“ _Merci, Grantaire. Je l’ai aimé_ ,” Enjolras said.

  
Grantaire smiled and laid a hand on Enjolras’ cheek, thumb caressing the bone beneath. Enjolras found himself leaning into the touch. Grantaire leaned closer.

  
“ _Permets-tu?_ ” Enjolras nodded against Grantaire’s hand, then his lips were on his own.

  
The kiss was soft, but Enjolras wanted more. He tugged Grantaire’s hips to his own, backing them into the tree trunk; Grantaire placed a hand on the back of Enjolras’ neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His fingers carded through the blond hair. Enjolras was holding Grantaire by his belt loops flush to his body. Enjolras licked into his mouth. Grantaire relished in the new closeness and reciprocated his movements. Their noses were crashing together. Their hands were all over each other, fingers teasing at waistlines, raking up shirts, scratching faint lines along sides.

  
Grantaire broke for air but quickly reattached his mouth to Enjolras’ neck. Lips kissing, teeth raking the surface, tongue teasing. Enjolras had his fingers wound in Grantaire’s black curls, holding him in this closeness. Enjolras pulled him back up and reconnected their mouths. It was a clash of lips, and teeth, and tongue.

  
They leaned their foreheads against each other. Both were panting; both were flushed; both had lips red as blood. “ _Mon Dieu_ ,” Grantaire whispered, kissing the corner of Enjolras mouth. Enjolras pulled Grantaire closer and he ducked his head to Enjolras’ neck, biting gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Enjolras shuddered and immediately wondered if the hostel allowed him to bring a guest to his room. Grantaire groaned obscenely against his skin.

  
“Meet me at the Musain _demain,”_ Grantaire said, lips fluttering against Enjolras’ skin.

  
“Stay,” Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire back up to face him.

  
He shook his head. “This hotel does not allow guests.”

  
“Then why didn’t we go to your place?” Enjolras asked, a pout creeping onto his face.

  
“ _Je pensais que ce serait trop direct._ ”

  
Enjolras kissed him again and whispered against his mouth, “ _Quelle heure?_ ”

  
“ _Je m‘en fiche_. Some time. Any time.” He kissed him again, forcing himself to pull away before he wouldn’t be able to leave at all. “ _À demain_.”

  
Enjolras followed his lips, kissing him quickly again. “ _À demain_ ,” Enjolras agreed.

  
Grantaire pulled back and walked away. Enjolras followed him with his eyes and just before Grantaire was about to round the corner, he turned and waved goodbye, the only streetlamp on the road illuminating his soft smile. He turned and he was gone.

 

*****

 

 **From Courfeyrac:** its midnight over there and every1 knows you dont sleep until 3 @ the earliest so if you dont answer this im assuming u got laid.  
 **From Enjolras:** no additional guests allowed in this hotel.  
 **From Courfeyrac:** goddamnit  
 **From Courfeyrac:** wait so r u at his place?  
 **From Courfeyrac:** Enjolras  
 **From Courfeyrac:** Enjolras!  
 **From Enjolras:** no, I’m not at his place.  
 **From Enjolras:** but I’m seeing him tomorrow.  
 **From Courfeyrac:** good.  
 **From Courfeyrac:** get it son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prévisible: predictable  
> Je ne sais pas: I don't know  
> Mais j'ai fait tout aujourd'hui: But I did it all today.  
> Merci/C'est rien: Thank you/It's nothing  
> Merci, Grantaire. Je l'ai aimé: Thank you, Grantaire. I loved it.  
> Permets-tu?: Do you permit it? ((Did you like my little canon reference?))  
> Mon Dieu: My God  
> Demain/à demain: tomorrow  
> je pensais que ce serait trop direct: I thought it would be too forward.  
> Quelle heure?: what time?  
> Je m'en fiche: I don't care.
> 
> The feedback for this fic has been so lovely! I appreciate everything so much more than you can imagine.  
> Feel free to visit me on tumblr: montparn-assbutt.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is really long (compared to my other chapters) and is pure fluff in preparation for the angst I'm gonna drop on you in a few chapters.
> 
> Translations at the end. (It's a really long end note.)
> 
> Thanks go, forever and always, to Meeni (demonsonthemoon.tumblr.com) for being a positively wonderful beta and translator.

  
_Paris, France_   
_102 Rue Gabriel Peri, Saint-Denis_   


Enjolras hadn’t managed to sleep until 3:56 AM. He remembered because he had been staring at the clock counting down the hours until he could see Grantaire again.

  
This was strange for him. Very rarely did he even like someone _platonically_ after first meeting them, let alone whatever this feeling was. Were Courfeyrac there, he would bat his eyelashes and sing-song “Enjolras is in _loooooove.”_ Enjolras wouldn’t be so stupid as to say that, but he did find himself replaying Grantaire’s laugh in his head and longing to hear it again. He found himself at 3:43 AM remembering how Grantaire’s lips felt on his own, how his hands felt teasing along his sides and chest and pressed firmly against his back. He remembered the little moans and sighs and groans Grantaire made. He thought about how they should be made illegal, not just in France, but internationally.

  
It wasn’t just lust, either. Enjolras stared at the ceiling wondering what they would do that day, where Grantaire would take him, what he could see with the Paris native by his side. He wondered if they would hold hands while walking down the streets. He hoped when they ducked into a restaurant for lunch, they would sit so close he could feel their breath mingling. He wanted them to kiss softly and sweetly under a street lamp when twilight hit.

  
He realized he was acting like a teenage girl. He couldn’t find it in him to care.

  
People often thought that Enjolras couldn’t be attracted to anyone. They were very wrong. Enjolras as a teenager, before he found his cause, had been a raging mass of hormones, although he never had enough courage to act on his thoughts, emotions never being his strong suit. He never stopped being attracted to others, it was more that when he found his cause he stopped seeing them at all. His vision became tunneled and all he could see was Patria.

  
When he was relaxed, however, or when his friends forced him out and a couple drinks in, his vision expanded. It was extremely rare, but throughout college he managed to be relaxed enough to have a net total of five one night stands, never a relationship though. Now that he had a month off, he could see the possibility. He could see Grantaire every day. He could become fluent in French. He had a month with this man. What would happen at the end of the month he didn’t like to think about. He pushed it out of his mind.

  
It was with thoughts of black curls and blue eyes and tattooed arms that he finally drifted off to sleep and at 7:00 AM these thoughts woke him from his dreams.

 

*****

 

Enjolras woke to the sun streaming on his face from the window. His eyes fluttered open and he immediately covered them with his hands. Too bright, too early. He stumbled out of bed and into the shower. The water was helpful in waking him up.

  
He was halfway through shampooing his hair when he realized _shitshitshit_ he has an actual date today. His eyes shot open, _shit I have a date today_. His eyes clenched shut, _shit there’s shampoo in my eye_. The next five minutes were spent trying to wash said shampoo out with the horrible water pressure the hotel provided. He finished quickly and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist.

  
He walked into the room where he turned to the closet. He had hung up the small amount of clothes he packed. They consisted mostly of jeans, screen printed t-shirts mocking the government, and sweaters. He also brought along one nice top with black slacks and a tie, just in case.

  
He stared at his clothes for a while without deciding. He wasn’t sure where Grantaire was taking him, and so he didn’t want to risk wearing one of the more inappropriate political t-shirts. He didn’t know what the weather would be like that day (because his friends also conveniently blocked weather forecasts from his laptop), so he didn’t want to wear a sweater. He was almost positive Grantaire wouldn’t take him anywhere that required his good clothes, so at least that was one option cancelled.

  
He considered calling Courfeyrac for help. He looked at the clock and calculated the time change; it would be 2:00 AM in New York. He figured they would probably be asleep considering how Joly woke them up early the day before. He considered this for a moment, then thought _fuck it_. They were the ones who sent him on this trip anyway.

  
He called Courf’s phone. It rang eight times before he answered.

  
“What the fuck, Enjolras? I don’t know what time it is in Paris but it’s fucking two in the goddamn morning and I was asleep and dreaming pleasantly about--”

  
“Get on Skype now, it’s important,” Enjolras cut him off then promptly hung up.

  
He opened his computer and the program and the call came immediately. Courf was sitting in a pitch black room, the computer screen casting stark shadows on his face. He was frowning and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  
“What the fuck was so important?” he asked grumpily.

  
“I need help deciding what to wear.”

  
It was then that Courf noticed how little clothing Enjolras was wearing at the moment. “You could always just wear that out. I heard the French are more free with their clothing choices.”

  
“Shut up and help me.” He stood then and walked to his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and holding them up for Courf to see.

  
“Those are fine,” he said. “I’d never thought I’d see the day. Enjolras, nervous for a date. This guy must be a catch.”

  
Enjolras pointedly ignored Courf’s statement in lieu of saying, “You blocked the weather network on my computer. What’s the temperature going to be in Paris?”

  
“Did we?”

  
“Yes,” Enjolras replied dryly, hoping Courfeyrac could feel his glare through the computer screen. “You only left porn and tourism.”

  
Courfeyrac laughed at the memory as he pulled up the weather. “Mid seventies for the day.”

  
“Ok. Which t-shirt?” Enjolras asked holding out three of his least offensive t-shirts, one that said _Think. It’s not illegal yet._ another that had a hands grasping at lines on a barcode as if in a prison, and his _Work. Buy. Consume. Die._ shirt.

  
“Do you have any plain shirts or is your closet filled solely with anti-capitalism and anarchy?”

  
“There’s some feminism too,“ he replied. “Which one?”

  
Courfeyrac sighed. “The barcode one.”

  
Enjolras smiled as he walked to the laptop. “Thank you.” He smiled as he ended the call.

  
He quickly got dressed and ready, packing his bag with his laptop, French book, and phone. He left the hotel and walked to the metro station. He would be at the café by ten. It was when he was walking to make his line change that he realized that he might be too early. That thought set off a string of panicked thoughts wondering if Grantaire forgot, or what if he got mugged on his way to his flat last night, or what if he just decided that he didn’t like Enjolras at all. He was holding onto the rails with a death grip now, so he forced himself to calm down and take deep breaths.

  
He got off the train and walked to where he remembered the Musain was. He looked in through the windows while trying to stay hidden in the crowd, but Jehan spotted him and waved. He didn’t see Grantaire, but if Jehan (who was obviously a close friend) was being nice, that had to be a good sign, right?

  
He tried calming his nerves ( _God, when did you start having nerves, you are acting like a hormonal teenager_ ). He smiled as he walked in and sat at the bar across from Jehan.

  
“ _Bonjour_ , Enjolras. You’re out early,” Jehan said with a kind smile.

  
“I’m always up this early.”

  
“You must see a lot of sunrises,” he replied. “But sunrises come with exhaustion. I’m assuming you want coffee; you did stay out quite late last night.”

  
Enjolras definitely didn’t flush at that. “Coffee would be great. A double espresso, _s’il vous plaît_.” Jehan began to make the order. “Sorry about that, by the way, staying after the restaurant closed. I also never said thank you for translating a whole conversation for us. Not many people would do that.”

  
Jehan smiled sweetly as he placed the coffee in front of Enjolras. “It was no problem. It was worth it for love.”

  
Enjolras sputtered as he burnt his tongue on the coffee. “We’re not in _love.”_

  
“I have seen love, _Monsieur Enjolras_ , and one day there will be songs written about you two.”

  
Enjolras averted his eyes and took a slightly more dignified sip of coffee-- well as dignified as one can be when one’s face is flushing the shade of red of their favorite jacket. He sat there for a while, sipping his coffee and looking around the empty café.

  
The place was quite nice. It was dimly lit, most of the light coming in from the wall of windows which opened onto the terrace, so there was a gradient of darkness heading towards the back. There were a few booths lining the walls and small tables in the middle. In the very back there was a small bookshelf; Enjolras couldn’t see what types of books it held, but they all looked very old. The bar was a dark wood with leather covered stools that looked old and musty, but strangely and contrastingly held an air of elegance. The whole café was that way. It looked old and outdated and uncared for, but it still felt like a home and it seemed as though, if you looked close enough, you could see the remains of when it was new and shiny and gentlemen wearing cravats sat at the bar, smoking cigars and talking politics.

  
He turned to look out the window. It was a Saturday and few people were out this early, but there were some passersby holding a couple bags of groceries, walking a dog, etcetera. The sun was shining brightly now, descending its rays onto the scene before him. The light reflected off metallic fixtures, making them seem simultaneously more beautiful and harsher. He checked his watch.

  
“ _Excusez-moi_ ,” Enjolras called into the kitchen. Jehan peeked his head out from the door. _“Mais…_ do you have any idea when Grantaire will be here.”

  
Jehan glanced out the window. “ _Oui. Maintenant_ ,” he said as Grantaire walked into the café. He immediately spotted Enjolras and strolled over to him, hesitantly kissing him on the cheek.

  
“ _Tu es là tôt_. Sorry I did not come sooner.”

  
“It’s fine,” Enjolras said, giving Grantaire a quick, closed-lipped, but still passionate kiss, because if there was one thing Enjolras was, it was passionate. He felt Grantaire smile against his mouth before pulling back and spotting Jehan. He smiled jovially at him.

  
“ _Bonjour, Jehan! Comment vas-tu en ce merveilleux jour_?” He asked, gesturing wildly and happily.

  
Jehan smiled fondly, “ _Je vais magnifiquement bien, maintenant pars et profite de ton rendez-vous. Marius te remplace ce soir donc tu n‘as pas à t‘inquiéter_.”

  
“ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” Grantaire said sincerely, pulling Jehan into a hug.

  
Enjolras watched this exchange with a slight smile. He couldn’t understand everything, but he was pretty sure that Grantaire had someone covering for him so they could spend the whole day and night together. His smile grew at the thought.

  
Grantaire broke the hug with Jehan and turned to Enjolras. “Ready?” he asked, holding out a hand. Enjolras grabbed it and allowed Grantaire to pull him from his seat and out the door. When the wooden doors of the Musain were shut behind them, Enjolras pulled Grantaire into another kiss. Grantaire reciprocated him greedily, drinking him up like a plant does the sun when kept too long in the dark.

  
When they pulled back for breath, foreheads leaning together and noses bumping slightly with each heavy breath they took, Grantaire whispered, half to Enjolras, half to a deity he thought he didn’t believe in, “ _Qu‘est-ce que je fait pour te mériter_?” Enjolras kissed him again in response.

  
They broke apart, laughing and smiling; Enjolras was relaxed, Grantaire was happy. They held hands, arms forming a V between them.

  
“ _Où est-ce que nous allons_?” Enjolras asked, pausing a bit to think about verb conjugation. He may or may not have stayed up last night studying from his book.

  
“ _Je ne sais pas_ , I thought we could wander. See where we end up. Although as a starting place, there is a museum not too far from here. Is that ok? They are having a Chagall exhibit and I know he is not one of th--”

  
Enjolras had cut him off with a kiss. “The museum would be great.”

  
Grantaire pulled him to the crosswalk and when it was time they crossed the road. He started gesturing at the shops and cafés surrounding them.

  
“This is _Saint-Michel_. We are in the _Quartier Latin_ ; in the middle ages, the students at the university would live here and they all spoke Latin, so _Quartier Latin_. We have just come from _Place de Saint-Michel_ and this, _Boulevard Saint-Michel_ , has seen many protests, writers, and artists.”

  
Enjolras loved watching Grantaire talk like this, passionate and knowledgeable. The night before, he had stayed apathetic about most things, only getting riled up when they argued briefly over politics. But now-- now his eyes were lit up, his mouth was turned up in a smile as he spoke, struggling here and there to find the right English word, he gestured at the streets, the people, the shops with one hand, the other grasped firmly in Enjolras’. It was clear to Enjolras that Paris was his home and his soul.

  
Instead of expressing all this, Enjolras simply said, “Your English has improved.”

  
Grantaire smiled down at Enjolras, “I couldn’t sleep.”

 

Enjolras returned the smile. “ _Moi aussi_.”

  
Grantaire wrapped an arm around Enjolras’ waist, and Enjolras leaned into the touch. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

  
“ _Non, juste un café. Et toi_?”

  
“ _Rien_. There is _une patisserie_ near us. Is that ok?”

  
“ _C’est bon_.”

  
They walked hand in hand to the bakery. The smell of pastries permeated the air and underneath the glass case they could see the rainbow of desserts. While Enjolras stared dumbfounded at the sheer _amount_ of food, Grantaire rambled off an order to the baker who placed the pastries in a small box for them. Enjolras watched Grantaire point at the different desserts; he decided to just let him take care of the order.

  
Grantaire turned to Enjolras. “Would you like anything else?” he asked with a smile.

  
“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

  
Grantaire paid for the food and took it out to the terrace where he sat at a small table across from Enjolras. Grantaire picked up a macaroon and bit into it. “Try the éclair,” he told Enjolras.

  
Enjolras took the pastry and bit in. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “This is quite literally the best thing I have ever tasted.”  
Grantaire laughed and asked, “They do not have these in America?”

  
“Not like this,” he replied taking another bite.

  
“The _patissier_ here is very good. The best in the city, some say.”

  
“ _Tu le connais_?”

  
“ _Oui, c‘est un ami. Il s’appelle Feuilly_.”

  
“When can I meet him to thank him for teaching me what it means to live?”

  
“He is not in today. It looks like Cosette is working instead. He must have taken the day off. _C‘est bon pour lui, il ne fait pas très souvent_.”

  
They continued talking like this until they finished the sugar-loaded and entirely non-nutritious breakfast. When they were done, they both stood and continued walking. They turned right on _Rue de Vaugirard_. The streets were lined with little shops and restaurants and people walking along. The pair walked slowly, Enjolras taking in the scenery, Grantaire taking in Enjolras. They made a left to get to the _Musée du Luxembourg_.

  
They paid for their tickets and walked into the exposition. Various paintings hung on the wall, colors filling the room as spectators walked quietly through, observing, noticing, absorbing. Grantaire and Enjolras stopped in front of a painting.  
“ _Je l’aime_ ,” Enjolras said, “but I don’t really know why I like it.”

  
“ _Chagall est un maître de la couleur_. He does not try to show life so much as _representer réalité_. There is _une qualité fièvreuse à ses peintures_. The shapes, the people, the colors, they… _te transportent_. It does not look like life, but it feels like it. _Cela t’emmène dans un rêve_. You are dreaming. You are… _en train de vivre la vie comme elle faite pour être vécue. Fièvreuse, déchaînée, libérée._ It is an _idealisme né dans sa proper vie,_ given to us through his paintings. It is free and wild, and _ça n‘a pas de frontières_.” Grantaire gestured wildly, his eyes were lit up with a passion he didn’t normally have. He switched between French and English, one language not enough to express himself. He carried on, a smile on his face, pointing out certain features on the painting. He struggled sometimes for exactly the right word to express the magnificence he found in the painting.

  
Enjolras watched, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. His eyes were softened, looking at the man as passion overtook him. Yes, this is where he chose to lay his affections. Grantaire had stopped speaking by then, unable to find the right words, an opened mouth smile on his face, breathing deeply from not taking a breath during his tirade.  
“Don’t stop,” Enjolras said, taking both Grantaire’s hands in his own.

  
Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, and his speechlessness was exemplified. “The colors…” he choked out. Enjolras nodded in encouragement. “The colors are… good. Very good. _Très bien_ ,” he said, inching closer to Enjolras. “ _Très bien_ ,” he repeated, connecting their lips.

  
The kiss was more than a little indecent for a public place, much less an art museum, but they couldn’t find it in themselves to stop. Enjolras hands were raking through Grantaire’s curls and Grantaire was fisting Enjolras’ t-shirt. When they broke Grantaire nuzzled into Enjolras’ neck and the blonde whispered in his ear, “I think they’re judging us.” He glanced at the other people in the exhibit, some where flat out glaring at the pair, others were pointedly ignoring them, choosing to awkwardly stare at the paintings instead. Grantaire looked up and saw this, laughed, and quickly pecked Enjolras again before grabbing his hand and running out of the museum before security could get to them.

  
When they got out on the street, they kissed again, more chastely this time, laughing against the other’s mouth. They broke and continued walking, hand in hand.

  
“ _Où est-ce que nous allons maintenant_?” Enjolras asked.

  
“ _Je ne sais pas_.” He shrugged his shoulders. They turned right on _Rue Vavin_. On the corner there was a souvenir shop filled with typical tourist items like cheap plastic replicas of the Eiffel Tower and paperweights shaped like the Louvre’s glass pyramid.

  
Enjolras remembered then that he had to get stuff for his friends. He stopped Grantaire and pointed towards the shop. “Can we stop in there real quick, I need to get things for my friends.”

  
Grantaire saw the shop and disappointment was written on his face. He slowly shook his head. “No.” He said simply.

  
“But why not?” Enjolras said angrily.

  
“You are not going into a shitty tourist place when there are better shops all around you.”

  
“But it’s so easy, it’s just right across the street.”

  
“There is a shop just around the corner. _Crois-moi_.”

  
“Just--”

  
“Listen to me or you will regret ever coming to Paris.”

  
Enjolras sighed petulantly and followed Grantaire, mouthing the words, “I didn’t want to come anyway.”

  
Enjolras followed Grantaire to the shop. “ _Les Bibelots de Hucheloup_?” Enjolras said, reading the sign above the doorway.

  
“People come in and give her what they do not want. You will find what you need here. And at better prices.”

  
They walked in and the woman behind the counter greeted Grantaire warmly with a kiss on both cheeks. Enjolras took her to be Madame Hucheloup. She was rotund with a kindly face and an easy smile which was now turned on Grantaire. The shop was small and crowded. Small tables were littered with trinkets and objects and the whole shop had an air of age. When one stepped through the doorway, the world seemed to take on the sepia tint of an old movie.

  
While Enjolras looked through the items in the shop, Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup (or _Maman Loupie_ as Grantaire called her) conversed animatedly and happily. Eventually Enjolras found all he needed; an old Fourier philosophy book for Combeferre, a vintage bowtie for Courfeyrac, a framed vintage medical plate of a skull for Joly, a pair of antique boxing gloves for Bahorel, a mug with a four leaf clover inlay for Bossuet, and a beautiful white hair comb for Musichetta. He brought all these items to the counter and set them down.

  
“ _Bonjour, Enjolras_ ,” Madame Hucheloup said, ringing up the items. “ _Grantaire m‘en a dit tellement à propos de toi_.”

  
“ _J‘ai entendu_ ,” Enjolras replied with a smile, taking out the money.

  
“ _Ton français est trés bon._ ”

  
“ _Il a un bon professeur_ ,” Grantaire said, wrapping an arm around Enjolras as the blonde took the bag with items.

  
 _“Merci,”_ Enjolras said. “It was lovely meeting you.”

  
Grantaire waved goodbye as they walked out of the shop. “ _Ne commence pas à m‘oublier juste parce que tu as un petit copain maintenant_ ,” Madame Hucheloup called after them. Grantaire definitely didn’t flush at the farewell.

  
Enjolras looked confusedly at Grantaire for a second. “ _Petit copain_ , what does that mean? I understood the rest, but that part doesn’t make sense.”

  
“It means ‘boyfriend,’” Grantaire said, looking anywhere but Enjolras.

  
“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, gesturing between them, at Grantaire’s hand still around his waist, trying to keep from sounding too hopeful.

  
Grantaire looked back to Enjolras and said with complete sincerity, “If that is what you want.” Enjolras kissed him in reply. “ _Est-ce que c‘est un oui_?” Grantaire asked when they broke apart.

  
“ _Oui. Oui. Toujours oui_ ,” Enjolras muttered, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed the corner of his mouth.

  
Grantaire kissed him again briefly before burying his face in the crook of Enjolras’ neck and shoulder. Enjolras had his face buried in Grantaire’s curls, arms wrapped around him, and humming appreciatively.

  
“This is insane,” Enjolras muttered. He looked at Grantaire, “I’ve only known you for two days, and we’re already dating?”

  
Grantaire’s heart fluttered at the word ‘dating.’ “ _J’ai dit_ , if that is what you want, that is what it is. I understand if you do not want--”

  
“ _Je veux. Je le veux. Je_ te _veux_.”

  
Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat as he kissed the man again. How blessed he was! He didn’t understand how something so good could happen to him. He marveled at the luck he had, if Enjolras hadn’t walked into the Musain on a whim he would not be kissing the man right now as though his life depended on it. They broke, Enjolras’ hands resting on Grantaire’s face, and Grantaire’s hands on Enjolras’ waist. Grantaire’s head was bent, and Enjolras’ lips rested on his head. At that moment Enjolras stomach growled, it had been four hours since they had eaten and pastries, no matter how delectable, are never much of a filling breakfast.

  
Grantaire laughed as he looked up and asked, “ _Veux-tu prendre le déjeuner_?”

  
“Yes,” Enjolras laughed. Grantaire took his hand and turned onto _Boulevard du Montparnasse_.

  
“There are restaurants all down this street. Just pick what you want.”

  
“ _Qu’est-ce que tu préfères_?”

  
“There are three close to us that are very good. _Un italien, un chinois, et un français_.”

  
“Italian sounds nice.”

  
They continued walking for a moment before Grantaire steered him into the restaurant. They sat down next to a window. The restaurant gave off a warmth of the heart, it felt very welcoming and hospitable. They made their orders quickly and continued their conversation. When their food came, they ate while conversing and when their plates were removed, they continued talking. They greatly enjoyed such conversation, both leaning closer to the other, knees bumping under the table. The topics remained light, they did not want to bring gloom on their day. They stayed clear of politics and ideologies, remembering what could happen when such subjects were broached.

  
“What did you get your friends?” Grantaire asked, nodding towards the bag containing the aforementioned trinkets.

  
“A mug for Bossuet, a comb for Musichetta, a picture for Joly, some boxing gloves for Bahorel, a bow tie for Courfeyrac, and a book on philosophy for Combeferre.”

  
“Combeferre, he is the one who forced you on this trip, _non?”_

  
Enjolras rolled his eyes at the memory. “ _C‘était plus un effort de groupe_.”

  
“You must remind me to thank them.”

  
“ _Pourquoi_?”

  
“It is because of them that you are here with me.”

  
Enjolras grinned. “ _Parle-moi plus de tes amis_.”

  
“You have met Jehan. He is the kindest person I know. He writes poetry that could be better than Agrippa d’Aubigné. He speaks five languages, English, Latin, Italian, Hebrew, and French. Feuilly is so smart; he taught himself to read and write in his foster homes. He worked every day for years, never taking a day off, to earn enough money to pay his way through culinary school and open his patisserie. Cosette works for him, you saw. She is so sweet and so… _qu’est-ce que c’est_ … wild. She has… _une langue acérée et un esprit vivace_. She is fearsome, but she is the best person you will know. You will love her, I can tell. She and Marius are dating, _on a placé paris sur quand il serent fiancés_. Marius is shy, but smart. He speaks German and English and is the perfect man for Cosette. Éponine is a wolf. She is frightful and lovely and has seen things a person should not see at her age and she is my best friend.” Grantaire’s face was once again lit up with a passion. It seemed as though he only cared for a few things, Paris, art, and his friends. Enjolras could feel his love when he spoke.

  
“ _J‘aimerais beaucoup apprendre à les connaître_ ,” Enjolras said.

  
“ _Demain_ , if you want. _C’est dimanche_ , everyone will be off work.”

  
 _“Parfait,”_ Enjolras replied.

  
Grantaire called for the check and as he placed the money down he said, “I was thinking… _peut être nous pouvons aller à ce cinéma que je connais_?”

  
“Sure. _Quel film_ … would we see?” he finished in English, not knowing the exact French words.

  
“Whatever is showing next.”

  
The pair stood and walked together, up _Boulevard du Montparnasse_ , left on _Rue du Montparnasse_ , continuing onto _Rue de la Gaité_ , right on _Rue du Maine_. They passed shops and large intersections, tree covered terraces that sent them back to the nineteenth century, construction sites that brought them back to the twenty-first. Graffiti covered the walls in the side streets they passed through, tags and complex stencil art covering the surface. They crossed _Boulevard du Maine_ , took a right on _Rue Falguière_ , continued on to _Rue du Cherche-Midi_ , merged on _Rue du Dragon._ Sometimes they walked hand in hand, sometimes Grantaire’s hand was placed on Enjolras’ waist, sometimes it was the other way, but in all scenarios their physical contact was constant. Sparks ran through their fingertips, electrifying whatever they touched. Right on _Boulevard Saint-Germaine_ , left on _Rue Mazarine_ , right on _Rue Dauphine_ which changed into _Pont Neuf_. They strolled along, both carefree for the first time. They had a bounce to their step and stopped occasionally to kiss under a tree or on a bench when they became fatigued. When they tired of kisses, Enjolras would lay his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, or Grantaire’s head would fall into Enjolras’ lap, and they would tangle their fingers in the other’s hair. Their eyes would fall shut in pure contentment and safety. They crossed _Pont Neuf_ over _Ile de la Cité_. They reached a park and crossed through. At one point, Enjolras, laughing, pulled Grantaire down into the grass and kissed him on the ground, arms bracketing his head, and legs a tangle of limbs. They lay like that for a while, the movie momentarily forgotten; Grantaire’s arms behind his head, Enjolras’ head on his chest, a hand laid softly on his stomach. They stared silently at the clouds, marveling their luck at finding each other.

  
It had only been two days that Enjolras had been in Paris, and here he was, lying on the ground in pure happiness with this man. They knew so much about each other already, not everything, they understood, but that would come later. They had all the time in the world to learn their faults and quirks and idiosyncrasies, but now they watched the clouds above Paris move slowly over them.

  
Eventually they were reminded of the movie they promised to see. Enjolras got up first and offered a hand to help Grantaire. They continued walking through the park until they reached the cinema at the end. Enjolras paid for two tickets to the movie showing in five minutes, _Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain_ the marquis read.

  
“ _C’est un classique moderne_ ,” Grantaire said.

  
“It sounds familiar,” Enjolras replied. It was only when he saw the movie poster did he recognize it as Courf’s favorite film (one which he attempted multiple times to get Enjolras to watch, but to no avail). He related this to Grantaire who laughed, but promptly shut up when the movie began. It was clear to Enjolras the respect held towards the cinema by the French.

  
There were no subtitles, but Enjolras was able to understand the movie with minor difficulty. He held Grantaire’s hand and they lay clasped on his thigh. They viewed the movie in complete silence, laughing only occasionally at an amusing part, but nothing more. Sometimes one or the other would squeeze their hand a bit tighter and immediately after it was returned; it was a reassurance to both that they did not disappear in the dark of the theater and that the pressure of their hand was not merely a ghost.

  
The movie over, they filed out of the theater. It was turning dark now and dusk was settling. They stood outside the cinema, hands still clasped tightly.

  
Grantaire turned to Enjolras. “Dinner?”

  
“Dinner.”

  
They walked to a restaurant near the theater. When they were seated, even though the table separated them, they could feel their breath mingle, their hearts beat in time. They continued their conversation, learning each other’s quirks as they went along. Enjolras had to have either complete silence or Green Day when he was stressed. Grantaire, when he painted, had a habit of getting paint _everywhere,_ and no, it could not be helped. Enjolras when nervous could obsessively clean bathrooms for hours. Grantaire played guitar and drank tea made with four bags when he woke up too early. Enjolras sang the national anthem and recited the preamble to the Constitution when drunk (but that was okay, because Grantaire mockingly sang _La Marseillaise_ ). Grantaire preferred vodka to tequila, but mostly drank cheap wine (he didn’t say how often he drank though; a conversation saved for another time). Enjolras said he rarely drank, but when he did it was with a preference for rum and cokes. Grantaire preferred to paint impressionistic styles than any other; Enjolras preferred Lincoln-Douglass debates to British Parliamentary.

  
Enjolras loved Grantaire’s personality while simultaneously being frustrated by it. He loved how he could flit from topic to topic, how when he got really riled up he would default back to French without realizing it. He loved the way his eyes gleamed when talking about art. He loved the faint smell of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes and the bits of paint he discovered on his neck that just wouldn’t wash off. But he hated how he didn’t seem to care about much else besides his disdain for the world. He hated how he was so knowledgeable and smart, yet a strain of self-hatred and mockery ran as a constant throughout his voice, unless he was speaking of Enjolras. He felt a sadness in the pit of his stomach when he realized that Grantaire always looked at him as though he were a god, one to be worshiped, one believed to be higher than himself. He noticed how Grantaire’s eyes seemed to look upon him as if he were too good to be true, as if he could flit away at any moment, return to the heaven from whence he surely came. If he knew the words in French to say, “No, we are equals. And you are just as lovely, and worthy, and beautiful as I am. You have no need to think down on yourself. You are not a worm and I am not Apollo. We are Achilles and Patroclus and we are equal.” But he did not know how to say such things, and so he kept them to himself and tried to show Grantaire in his touch that he need not think such self-depreciating thoughts.

  
Grantaire, a cynic, a drunk, a non-believer and one who looked at the world through the lens of crushed ideals and depression, found faith in Enjolras. His heart soared with Enjolras. He was, in his mind, a worm picked up by a bird, soaring above the ground and about to be devoured, it was no matter though, for now he was flying. It would be worth it to be consumed by such a majestic being to fly by its side and to feel its burning touch. Too often in the past two days had Grantaire asked himself, “What god looks kindly upon me?” To be in Enjolras’ presence was a dream he did not know he dreamed until the man walked into his café two days ago. Two days is a short time, but it is not so for one who has not long to live.

  
Their dinner was finished and the check paid. They stood outside, about to decide what to do when a sudden rainstorm hit. Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ hand and they both ran, laughing and attempting to shield their heads, towards the nearest metro station. Grantaire led the way, pulling Enjolras along by the hand. They reached the station and ran down the steps where they purchased their tickets. As Grantaire was paying, Enjolras followed a droplet of rain make it’s way down his neck and disappear into the collar of his shirt. He found himself longing to follow the raindrop. The water soaked his curls and pushed them from his face. Droplets dripped down from his hair and fell onto the shirt that now clung to his body.

  
The tickets paid for, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire and pulled him into the nearest outcropping he could find, pushing him against a wall and kissing him with a passion only his speeches had ever brought out. Grantaire reciprocated, move for move. Enjolras began tugging at the wet strands of Grantaire’s hair; Grantaire started dragging up Enjolras’ shirt. The blond licked into the other’s mouth; the brunet bit lightly at his bottom lip, pulling just slightly so as to elicit a positively illegal moan from the blond that settled below his belly. Enjolras licked and kissed his way up Grantaire’s neck to settle on nipping on his earlobe; Grantaire sucked at Enjolras’ pulse point until the man was scraping lines down his back. Enjolras slotted his leg between Grantaire’s and Grantaire rolled his hips upward, rubbing against Enjolras, and was rewarded with a broken half-groan, half-sob.

  
Eventually they had to break apart for air, at which point Grantaire said, “The train leaves in three minutes,” his accent made thicker with arousal.

  
“Did I ever tell you how much I love your accent,” Enjolras said, kissing along Grantaire’s jaw line, “because I fucking love it.”

  
“ _Vraiment? Je continuerais bien à parler, mais notre train va bientôt partir_ ,” he said cheekily-- well as cheekily as he could considering Enjolras was still attached to his neck. “But we really have to go. The next train won’t leave for another hour.”

  
“I can do this for an hour,” Enjolras said, nipping at Grantaire’s lower lip.

  
“But it would be better at my house.” And with that Enjolras was dragging Grantaire down the stairs to where they just barely made their train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Bonjour: good morning/hello  
> s’il vous plaît: thank you  
> Excusez-moi, mais: excuse me, but...  
> Oui. Maintenant: Yes, now  
> Tu es là tôt: you're here early  
> Bonjour, Jehan! Comment vas-tu en ce merveilleux jour: Good morning, Jehan! How are you this wonderful morning?  
> Je vais magnifiquement bien, maintenant pars et profite de ton rendez-vous. Marius te remplace ce soir donc tu n‘as pas à t‘inquiéter: I'm great, now go enjoy your date. Mariuis is taking your shift tonight so don't worry  
> Merci beaucoup: thank you so much.  
> Qu‘est-ce que je fait pour te mériter: what did I do to deserve you  
> Où est-ce que nous allons: Where are we going  
> Je ne sais pas: I don't know  
> Moi aussi: me too (I know that this is technically a mistake, but cut him some slack he's just learning)  
> Non, juste un cafe. Et toi?: no, just a coffee. you?  
> Une patisserie: a bakery  
> Rien: nothing  
> C'est bon: that's fine  
> Tu le connais: you know him?  
> C'est un ami. Il s'appelle Feuilly: He's a friend. His name's Feuilly.  
> C‘est bon pour lui, il ne fait pas très souvent: It's good for him, he doesn't do it too often  
> Je l'aime: I like it.  
> Chagall est un maître de la couleur: [he] is a master of color  
> representer réalité: represent reality  
> une qualité fièvreuse à ses peintures: a hectic quality to his painting  
> te transportent: transport you  
> Cela t’emmène dans un rêve: it brings you into a dream  
> en train de vivre la vie comme elle faite pour être vécue. Fièvreuse, déchaînée, libérée: living life as it's meant to be lived: hectic, unchained, free.  
> idealisme né dans sa proper vie: idealism born from his own life  
> ça n‘a pas de frontières: it doesn't have boundaries.  
> Très bien: very good  
> crois-moi: trust me  
> Les Bibelots de Hucheloup: Hucheloup's Trinkets  
> Grantaire m‘en a dit tellement à propos de toi: Grantaire has been telling me about you  
> J'ai entendu: I heard.  
> Ton francais est tres bon: your french is very good  
> il a un bon professeur: he has a good teacher  
> Ne commence pas à m‘oublier juste parce que tu as un petit copain maintenant: don't be stranger just because you have a boyfriend now.  
> Est-ce que c‘est un oui: Was that a yes?  
> Oui oui, toujours oui: yes yes, always yes.  
> J'ai dit: I said  
> Je veux. Je le veux. Je te veux: I want. I want this. I want you.  
> Veux-tu prendre le déjeuner: do you want lunch?  
> Qu’est-ce que tu préfères: What do you want?  
> un italien, un chinois, un francais: Italian, Chinese, French  
> C‘était plus un effort de groupe: It was a group effort.  
> Pourquoi: why?  
> Parle-moi plus de tes amis: tell me more about your friends  
> une langue acérée et un esprit vivace: A sharp tongue and a quick wit.  
> on a placé paris sur quand il serent fiancés: we have bets on when they'll get engaged.  
> J‘aimerais beaucoup apprendre à les connaître: I would love to meet them.  
> Demain. C'est dimanche: tomorrow. It's Sunday.  
> peut être nous pouvons aller à ce cinéma que je connais: maybe we could go to this cinema I know.  
> quel film: what movie  
> c'est un classique moderne: it's a modern classic  
> Vraiment? Je continuerais bien à parler, mais notre train va bientôt partir: really? I would keep talking but our train is about to leave.
> 
> I based the route they took around Paris (well technically just around three neighborhoods) off of this passage in the brick, using all the roads that still exist: "'I am capable of descending the Rue de Grès, of crossing the Place Saint-Michel, of sloping through the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince, of taking the Rue de Vaugirard, of passing the Carmelites, of turning into the Rue d’Assas, of reaching the Rue du Cherche-Midi, of leaving behind me the Conseil de Guerre, of pacing the Rue des Vielles Tuileries, of striding across the boulevard, of following the Chaussée du Maine, of passing the barrier, and enter Richefeu’s. I am capable of that. My shoes are capable of that.'"
> 
> My tumblr is montparn-assbutt.tumblr.com vist me anytime and feedback is greatly loved and appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I got around to writing some sexy times for you.
> 
> Enjoy your short, pornographic interlude.
> 
> Beta'd by Meeni (demonsonthemoon.tumblr.com)

  
_Paris, France_   
_Rue Durantin, Montmartre_   


The metro ride to the apartment was long, _too fucking long_ in Enjolras’ humble opinion. Unfortunately the train was crowded and cramped, so they had to content themselves with quick kisses, barely there touches of lips to lips, lips to neck, lips to jaw, muffled moans and sighs, hands creeping slowly upwards on thighs, but not close enough, never close enough. Grantaire was grateful for the passengers politely ignoring them.

  
The walk from the station was even worse. Why the fuck did Grantaire have to live twenty minutes from the station? The train stopped and they practically ran out of the station. When they were out in the cool air, Enjolras found himself kissing Grantaire against a lamp post. He vaguely registered the man muttering something about “public indecency” but then again, he was the one attached to Enjolras’ neck at the moment.

  
“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” Grantaire moaned against Enjolras lips. Enjolras swallowed the sound in another kiss. Grantaire pulled back.

“ _Allons-y_ ,” he breathed heavily, pulling Enjolras further towards his house. They ran breathily and at every crossroads where they had to stop, they reattached themselves at some juncture until one of them noticed they could continue walking.

  
Finally, _finally,_ they got to Grantaire’s apartment. Grantaire fumbled with the keys and opened the door, which was made more difficult by the fact that Enjolras stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist and was alternating between nipping at and kissing his neck. He got the door open and dragged them inside, pinning Enjolras against the wall. Enjolras, through the haze, remembered to close the door seeing as Grantaire didn’t.

  
They were flush against each other; they couldn’t get close enough. They melded together everywhere they touched. With each clash of lips and teeth they were closer.

  
Grantaire tugged Enjolras’ shirt off, tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. Enjolras fumbled with the button on Grantaire’s jeans, finally shoving them off. Grantaire stepped out of them as he maneuvered them into the bedroom. They fell on the bed, Grantaire landing on top of Enjolras. Enjolras lifted Grantaire’s shirt off and pulled him back to himself.

Grantaire rubbed against Enjolras in the best possible way causing the man to moan against his neck and dig his fingernails into his back. Enjolras was still wearing pants and therefore choked out, “Clothes. Too many clothes. Fuck,” he said, as Grantaire did that infuriating move again before dropping down to slide off his pants and underwear from underneath him.

  
Grantaire took him in his mouth then. Enjolras’ fingers tangled in Grantaire’s hair as he bobbed up and down, doing criminal things with his tongue. Grantaire moaned against Enjolras causing him to tighten his fingers in his hair as he groaned.

  
“ _Viens ici_ ,” Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire up to him. He was smirking when he kissed him. Grantaire took him in hand then and twisted in a way that made Enjolras’ head fall back onto the mattress. Grantaire took advantage of this new position and started pulling out a mark on Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras kissed him again and moaned against his mouth, “Fuck me. Please.”

  
Grantaire stopped everything then, pulling back. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  
 _“Oui._ Yes. Fuck me. _Touche-moi._ Anything.”

  
 _“D‘accord,”_ Grantaire whispered, kissing Enjolras softly again before reaching into the bedside table for condoms and lube.  
He warmed up the lube in his hands before working Enjolras open. His touch was soft and careful; he kissed gently along Enjolras’ thighs, his sides, his stomach, his chest, working his way up to Enjolras’ mouth. The kiss was slow and broken only by soft moans from the pair. Ironically with those two words, “fuck me,” everything turned soft, slow, gentle, and loving.

  
“Ready?” Grantaire asked.

 

_“Oui.”_

  
Grantaire rolled on the condom, lubed up, and pushed in. They kept it slow; long, leisurely thrusts drew out quiet moans that they stole away in their kisses. It wasn’t fucking, like Enjolras had asked for, but it was better-- it was love. They carried on like that, drawing it out, not wanting it to stop, wanting it to last forever, but soon it was too much. Grantaire took Enjolras in hand and stroked until he came with a groan muffled in the crook of Grantaire’s neck; Grantaire thrust a few more times before coming with a groan Enjolras swallowed with a deep kiss.

  
They stayed like that for a moment, both trying to regain their senses, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, sometimes briefly reconnecting their lips. Eventually Grantaire pulled out slowly, disposing of the condom and grabbing a wet washcloth to clean up before tossing that too. He climbed into bed next to Enjolras who wrapped an arm around his stomach, tangling their legs.

  
Grantaire pressed his lips to Enjolras’ forehead. “Thank you,” he muttered.

  
Enjolras looked up and gently kissed him before dropping his head to rest against his collarbone. _“Merci,”_ he whispered.  
They fell asleep wrapped around each other, their breathing and heartbeats synched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be longer, I just wanted to get this in.  
> (Also as a quick hint, 78% of this chapter is symbolism and foreshadowing)  
> (Yes, I actually counted the sentences and did the math.)  
> (Yes, I know I'm a nerd.)  
> Grantaire's apartment: http://www.paristay.com/1325-furnished-apartment-in-montmartre-Durantin-1-bed.html
> 
> My tumblr is montparn-assbutt.tumblr.com  
> Feedback is greatly enjoyed and appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Meeni (demonsonthemoon.tumblr.com)  
> Also, I didn't mean for more porn to happen, but more porn happened. Enjoy.  
> Official symbolism calculation (because apparently I'm doing those now): 68.8% or 183 sentences of symbolism/foreshadowing/pertinence to theme. If you're brave enough to try to figure them out, you get a cookie.
> 
> I once again apologize for the long wait. And for any angsty feels you may get from this chapter.

  
_Paris, France_   
_Rue Durantin, Montmartre_   


Enjolras woke before Grantaire. The sun was streaming in from the window opposite the bed and the scene was lit up. Enjolras had a hand laid upon Grantaire’s chest, who had an arm wrapped loosely around Enjolras’ waist. Their legs were tangled and both were still naked, having been too lazy, too blissful, too tired and happy to put on clothes.

  
Grantaire’s hair was laid out in a dark halo around his head. His mouth was slightly agape with sleep, his lips and ever-present smirk softened in slumber. Enjolras traced his fingers up and down his sides, being careful not to wake him. He smiled softly and pressed his lips to Grantaire’s head. He stayed there for a moment, breathing in the scent of him, cigarettes, paint, and the soft tinge of whiskey.

  
He closed his eyes briefly before a metal ding sounded from somewhere at the foot of the bed. He tried ignoring it, but it came again, then again. He sighed as got up and dug around in his pants pocket for his phone. He checked his texts.

  
**From Combeferre:** You didn’t update us at all yesterday. Courf told us it was your date.

  
**From Combeferre:** But because we have trust issues when it comes to you and work, we thought you might have found a way around our ‘no work’ stipulation.

  
**From Combeferre:** What we’re trying to say is: Skype. Now.

  
Enjolras sighed ( _Fuck them all_ ). He rumpled around the floor as silently as he could before finding his underwear and pulling them on. He walked out into the living room where he faintly remembered dropping his bag. He found it and pulled out his laptop, plugged it in and turned it on. The call came immediately.

  
“Enjolras!” Bahorel shouted. He, Joly, and Bossuet were gathered around the screen. In the background he could faintly see Musichetta talking with Combeferre and what appeared to be Courfeyrac passed out on a couch. They all had a drink in their hand and it appeared like they were at Combeferre and Enjolras’ apartment. The man cringed as he turned down the volume, still not wanting to wake Grantaire.

  
“Combeferre! ‘Ferre, he’s on,” Joly shouted, gesturing for the man to come over.

  
“Morning,” Combeferre said, grabbing the laptop and resting it on his lap as he sat down on the couch next to a sleeping Courfeyrac.

  
“Evening,” Enjolras replied.

  
“That doesn’t look like a hotel room,” Combeferre told him, taking note of the kitchen behind him, well stocked with a coffee maker on the counter along with a few mugs and a pot in the sink. The others were gathered behind Combeferre, obviously drunk and eagerly waiting for Enjolras’ answer. It was clear they were waiting for this all day; Enjolras began to think that they hadn’t been suspicious at all, they just wanted to know if he got laid.

  
“That’s because it’s not a hotel room,” Enjolras said, his voice carefully clear of all emotion.

  
Everyone behind Combeferre burst out in various cheers of excitement, he saw Bahorel and Musichetta exchange bet money. He wondered yet again why he chose these people to hang out with.

  
“Wait, wait, wait, so you’re at his house?!” Joly asked excitedly.

  
“Where is he?” Musichetta asked, craning her head almost as like if she could bend her neck a certain way she could see around the view of Enjolras’ webcam.

  
“He’s still asleep and I would like for it to stay that way, so can please keep it down.”

  
“Aw, Enjolras is worried about his boyfriend,” Bahorel said mockingly.

  
“So what if I am?”

  
“Wait, you’re not denying that he’s your boyfriend,” Combeferre said, his face clear of emotion, but his voice had a worried undertone. Enjolras said nothing in response.

  
At that moment, Grantaire called from the bedroom, “ _Enjolras? Qu’est-ce que tu fais_?”

  
Enjolras looked away from the computer to call back, “ _Rien, juste parle à mes amis. Tu veux les rencontres maintenant_?”  
Grantaire peeked out of the bedroom, blinking his eyes with sleep, and saw Enjolras at the computer with his friends on the screen. On the corner, he noticed himself, only just in view of the webcam.

  
“ _Ouais, laisse-moi juste enfiler un pantalon_ ,” he said, ducking back into the bedroom; cue Musichetta and Bossuet trying to suppress giggles in the background.

  
“Since when do you speak fucking French?” Bahorel asked, shoving Combeferre, who still had a look of intense disapproval on his face, out of screen.

  
“It’s just a thing you pick up.”

  
“You’ve been there two days!”

  
Enjolras shrugged, “I’m just good with languages, I guess, and you know… full immersion and all that.” He was getting very concerned with Combeferre’s facial expressions. He knew the man was going to want to talk with him later.

  
Grantaire came out then, and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ shoulders, kissing the top of his head. Courfeyrac was awake by then and was positively squealing with delight at the cuteness of the pair.

  
“ _Tu veux quelque chose à manger_?” Grantaire asked.

  
“ _Juste un café, et ce que tu prepares pour toi_ ,” Enjorlas replied kissing him quickly again as he turned to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

  
“He’s nice, you can keep him,” Courf interjected. “I wasn’t really sure at first, I mean you just sent a picture and the fact that he didn’t speak English. That alone was enough concern, but he seems nice enough, and I knew that French book would come in handy.”

  
“You know I taught him English, right?”

  
“He did. And he’s a very good teacher,” Grantaire said. Enjolras would come to swear that that was the only time he ever saw Courf flush bright red from anything other than alcohol. Grantaire set a plate of toast and a couple coffees down on the table, taking a seat. “ _Bonjour_ ,” Grantaire greeted Enjolras’ friends. They immediately began talking to them, and it was easy to tell that Grantaire fit right in, carrying along conversations with the group as easily as he did with his own friends.  
Enjolras was enjoying watching this spectacle until he received a text.

 

**From Combeferre:** get away as soon as you can. I need to talk to you.

 

He noticed that Combeferre hadn’t been on screen for a while and assumed he had ducked away for just this purpose. He quickly finished his toast and coffee, wanting to just get this over with.

  
“Do you mind if I shower here real quick?” he asked Grantaire.

 

“Of course. It’s the door in the corner of the bedroom.”

  
“Thank you,” he said, pecking him quickly on the lips before heading to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and called Combeferre.

  
“I’m happy you got laid,” Combeferre answered, “but boyfriend? Enjolras, you’ve known him two days and I know you’re not one to do these things so quickly. In the whole time I’ve known you, and it’s been a real long time, you’ve had one relationship. In high school. After months of getting up the courage to ask him out.”

  
“I know, I know, it just…” Enjolras struggled for words, “it just feels right.”

  
“Not to mention the fact that you’re on vacation,” Combeferre continued. “Vacation, Enjolras. You’re only there for a month.”

  
“I know,” he sighed.

  
“Then why are you doing this? I saw how he looks at you. I saw how you look at him. You’ve only known each other for two days, but the way you look at each other, God, it’s sickening. If you end this when you come home, it’s going to end in heartbreak for both of you.”

  
“So what do you want me to do?!” Enjolras asked angrily, trying to keep his voice down. “Just grab my stuff and say, ‘Hey, thanks for the best date and resulting sex of my life. See you again never’?”

  
“No,” Combeferre replied calmly. “I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I want to make sure _he_ knows what he’s getting into because judging from the sound outside, the group seems to really like him. I don’t want you guys to get hurt because you were finally relaxed for long enough to go on a date for the first time in five years.”

  
“I know what I’m doing, Combeferre. I don’t want to hurt him either,” he said sadly.

  
“If you don’t want something to happen, it won’t. Just make sure you’re prepared.”

  
“I will be. Thanks, ‘Ferre,” Enjolras said and hung up. He quickly got in the shower and washed. He stepped out and pulled on his boxers and the shirt from yesterday.

  
When he went out, Grantaire and his friends were still talking and laughing about something. They were getting along well, Grantaire fitting in like a missing puzzle piece. Enjolras sat down at the table and joined the conversation.

  
Grantaire laughed jovially at something Courf said. “You’d like my friend Jehan, Courfeyrac.”

  
“Is that the pretty blonde with the braid in the picture you sent me?” he asked turning to Enjolras.

  
“Yes.”

  
“I already like him,” he said, turning back to Grantaire. “I mean a crappy cell phone picture makes him look pretty enough, imagine what a properly pixilated rendering would look like.” Courf starting to slip into reverie now. “Imagine the real thing,” he sighed.

  
“Courf!” Enjolras said, snapping him out of his soon-to-become-pornographic trance. “No one wants to see the fantasies in your head play out on your face.”

  
Grantaire laughed. “I don’t know, it could be an interesting way to get off.”

  
Enjolras playfully shoved him. “Shut up.”

  
“You’re right,” he said, climbing into Enjolras lap, leaning him against a wall and out of view from the webcam. “I could be thinking of better ways to get off,” he muttered against his lips.

  
“ _Vraiment_?” Enjolras said, kissing him.

  
“Really. Much better.”

  
In the background, though they didn’t hear, Courf and Bahorel were yelling, “Oh God, no. No one wants to hear you making out. Shit shit shit. Fine. Fine then, enjoy your sex.” They hung up.

  
Enjolras laughed against Grantaire’s lips before the man ducked down to worry a mark over his pulse point. His hands snaked down, tickling just barely along his sides, before tucking his thumbs in Enjolras’ waistband and pulling slightly, as if asking for permission.

  
“I just took a shower too,” Enjolras laughed.

  
“You could always take another one,” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras up by the belt loops. “After.” He pulled him to the bedroom where the bed was still unmade. “With me.”

  
“ _C’est vrai_.” Enjolras pushed him to the bed, bracketing his hips with his legs. “ _Je peux_.”

  
Enjolras ran his hands down Grantaire’s still shirtless chest, raking his fingernails just slightly over his hipbones. Grantaire let out a breathy moan as Enjolras leaned down to kiss along his collar bone. But then _oh God_ , his mouth trailed downward to just barely tease his nipple with his tongue and _fuck._ Enjolras looked up, asking permission with a raise of his eyebrows. Grantaire wound his fingers in his hair and let out a strangled groan. Enjolras took this as an emphatic yes.

  
Enjolras dipped his head down again, teasing and licking and using his teeth in just the right way. And then he went to palm Grantaire over his jeans and his head fell back as he moaned, “ _Seigneur Dieu_ , why didn’t I let you do this last night?”

  
“You’re not even undressed yet,” Enjolras said, trailing his lips and teeth and glorious tongue downward. He nipped at his hip bones.

  
“You can change that.”

  
Enjolras leaned up to kiss him, softly, gently, just barely running his tongue along his bottom lip, one hand still palming Grantaire’s erection, the other playing with his nipple in just the right ways to make him moan softly against his mouth. He smirked as he broke the kiss and ducked down again to unbutton Grantaire’s jeans with his teeth. He slid the zipper over his cock, his breath hot and heady over him.

  
“ _Putain. Merde_ ,” he swore, as Enjolras looked up at him, blue eyes meeting his with a mischievous gleam that made him entirely speechless. Enjolras, smirking (the cocky bastard), slid his pants and underwear down, letting it drag just barely over his erection. “ _Mon Dieu_ , what am I going to do with you?” he asked breathily.

  
Enjolras, smiling tugging at the corners of his mouth, kissed him and took him in hand. “ _Tu peux me laisser faire ça_.” He tugged gently, not nearly enough friction and he knew it. He rubbed his thumb over the tip causing Grantaire to bow his head into the dip of Enjolras’ neck and shoulder and muffle a moan in the skin there. “ _Et ça_.” He grabbed his head and tilted it up, kissing him roughly, all the friction that should be between his hand and Grantaire’s cock put into his lips against Grantaire’s. “And not to mention the fact that you could fuck me until I’m senseless.” Grantaire growled against Enjolras mouth, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Until I can’t think straight.” Grantaire began to suck and bite and lick at his neck greedily. “ _Jusqu‘à ce que je ne me souvienne plus de mon proper nom_.”

  
Grantaire flipped them over and attacked Enjolras’ mouth as he moved to remove his pants. “You’re feisty today,” Enjolras said as Grantaire kissed down his torso.

  
“Huh?” Grantaire hummed against his skin; ‘feisty’ was not a word he understood, but going off of the way Enjolras’ hands were grabbing at the sheets, his hair, his shoulder, really anything, he assumed it was a good thing.

  
_“Rien,”_ Enjolras said as Grantaire began to kiss up the inside of his thigh. “Just… _continue juste à faire ça_ ,” he breathed, his voice reaching a higher pitch than usual, and higher than he will ever willingly admit to.

  
Grantaire laughed against the skin of Enjolras’ hip; it was a sound that went straight south. “Goddamn it, Grantaire, if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to fucking _fuck,”_ he trailed off as Grantaire took him in his mouth and his tongue was doing these things and he was looking at him with this challenging glint in his eyes and _goddamn those are pretty eyes_ and what was he saying again?

  
Grantaire sucked him off until he was a babbling mess of swears and moans and breathy mutterings of Grantaire’s name. He pulled off to kiss him and Enjolras’ hands were tangled in his hair and both of them were painfully hard and all Grantaire could manage was, “You were saying something?” muttered against Enjolras mouth when they had to stop to breathe, but didn’t want to break the connection.

  
“Was I?” Enjolras said between heavy breaths.

  
“I believe you said something about me fucking you until you can’t remember anything.” He grabbed Enjolras and started jerking him off slowly and languidly.

  
Enjolras moaned into Grantaire’s shoulder. “ _C’est un bon idée_. I should have them more often.” Grantaire moaned as he kissed along Enjolras’ collarbone. “ _Tu vas le faire_?”

  
“Will I do what?” he asked, looking Enjolras in the eye.

  
“Fuck me. _Prends-moi. N‘importe quoi que tu veux faire_. Anything you need to do.”

  
“ _N‘importe quoi_?”

  
“Anything,” Enjolras nodded.

  
Grantaire kissed him softly then, hands cupping his face. He broke the kiss and grabbed the lube, still out from last night. Enjolras bent over and Grantaire worked at opening him up, pressing one finger in, twisting just the right way, then another, crooking them to hit just the right spot that had Enjolras grabbing at the bed sheets and trying to muffle moans in them because surely Grantaire had neighbors and he doubted they would appreciate this kind of noise at 10:48 AM on a Sunday.

  
Grantaire kissed along the bend of Enjolras’ spine. He added more lube and another finger until Enjolras was slick and ready to take everything he gave.

  
“Are you sure?”

  
_“Toujours.”_ Grantaire kissed him quickly before rolling on a condom. _“Attends,”_ Enjolras said when Grantaire kissed the nape of his neck. Grantaire stopped suddenly. “No, _non,_ just… Je veux te voir.” He turned around and Grantiare kissed him as he pushed in.

  
It was loving, and gentle, and caring, but it was also just the right amount of friction, and hot touches of skin on skin, and giving and taking in equal measures. Grantaire filled him in just the right way. There were soft touches and harder kisses. There were scratches along sides that spelled out “mine” in not so many ways. There were bruises sucked out of skin spelling the same thing.

  
They forgot then, or maybe they just didn’t care, that Enjolras was on vacation. That they only had a month of this. They didn’t remember that one of them lived in New York and the other lived in Paris. They forgot in that moment that an ocean separated them, for in that moment they were one and all boundaries, physical, emotional, international, were nonexistent. They weren’t in Paris. They weren’t even in Grantaire’s apartment; they could leave his apartment, they couldn’t leave this. This was simply them: soft touches, hard scratches, biting teeth, soothing tongues, locked gazes, eyes squeezed shut when it became almost too much.

  
And when they came together, they were swallowing each other’s moans like coffee on a Monday morning or whiskey on a Thursday night. And when they came it was without thought or motive besides the need to give everything they had and take everything offered to them.

  
And when Grantaire dropped his head on Enjolras’ shoulder and said, “I love you,” he meant it.

  
And when Enjolras carded his fingers through his black curls and said, “ _Je t’aime_ ,” he meant it.

  
And they didn’t care if they had only known each other for two days; it felt like a lifetime. They didn’t care about borders or oceans or flights. They only cared about the fact “I love you” and “ _Je t’aime_ ” sounded the same when spoken in the warmth of this room with the sun casting light upon them.

 

*****

 

They stayed there for a while. Enjolras’ head laid on Grantaire’s chest, his right arm thrown loosely around him. Grantaire was petting his scalp, running his fingernails lightly up and down with each stroke. Grantaire hummed happily. It sounded too distant; Enjolras hugged him tighter. Grantaire sighed when he kissed Enjolras’ forehead.

  
Enjolras should really talk to him. Right now, when both of them were too blissful to get angry. Then he took one look at Grantaire, whose smile reached his eyes when too often it didn’t. Enjolras had already seen Grantaire distance himself from emotion, from anything good in his life. There were brief flashes when he could see his eyes deaden and pull away from everything. There were times when he had to snap him out of a trance that involved staring at the floor of some café, a frown pulling his eyebrows together. There were moments when he could sense in his voice a disbelief that Enjolras could even look at him, let alone touch him, kiss him, love him. Enjolras couldn’t bring those things back, not now, so he remained quiet and kissed Grantaire, hoping he could chase away the thought with the movement of his lips.

  
Enjolras sighed and fell back on the sheets, which were already getting sticky and frankly, kind of gross. “You’re going to have to change these.”

  
“Laundry was tomorrow anyway.” Grantaire fell beside Enjolras. Both were laying on their backs and the midday sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Enjolras joined their hands and Grantaire lifted them until they were backlit by the sun, making their form dark and contrasting. It felt too ominous so Enjolras lowered their hands, but kept them together. Grantaire sighed, it felt ominous for him too, but in a worse way.

  
Enjolras turned to him. “Didn’t you say something about meeting your friends today?”

  
_“Oui._ Do you still want to?” he asked.

  
“Of course,” Enjolras kissed him. “But first a shower.”

  
They showered together and the water washed away all evidence of their activities, but traces still remained. There was a bruise on Grantaire’s hip and it was the most beautiful mix of purple and blue and green. There were scratches along Enjolras’ shoulders, faint lines of red against white skin.

  
Grantaire shampooed Enjolras’ hair; his fingers massaged his scalp and his hands covered his head and Enjolras leaned into the touch. They laughed when Grantaire started spiking Enjolras’ hair with the shampoo suds and when they kissed, the suds and bubbles washed over their closed eyes, but they didn’t notice, not while electricity was humming through their lips and mouths and fingertips. They forgot ominous shapes against the sunlight like they forgot the Atlantic ocean.  
Enjolras washed Grantaire’s back with his right hand and stroked his shoulder with his left. They kissed under the stream of water and smiled against each other’s lips. When they stepped out, Enjolras dried Grantaire whose head was bowed, hiding a slight smile. They changed and Enjolras wore Grantaire’s shirt.

  
“I’ll just ask where they are. Nobody’s working, they should all be in the same place,” Grantaire said, pulling out his phone and sending the text. When the reply came, he said to Enjolras, taking his hand, “Come, they’re at the park.”

  
Enjolras squeezed his hand and led them out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Qu'est-ce que tu fait?: What are you doing?  
> Rien, juste parle à mes amis. Tu veux les rencontres maintenant?: Nothing, just talking to my friends. Do you want to meet them now?  
> Ouais, laisse-moi juste enfiler un pantalon: Yeah, just let me put on some pants  
> Tu veux quelque chose à manger?: Do you want something to eat?  
> Juste un café, et ce que tu prepares pour toi: Just a coffee and whatever you're having to eat.  
> Vraiment?: Really?  
> C'est vrai. Je peux: It's true. I could.  
> Seigneur Dieu: God Almighty  
> Putain. Merde: Fuck. Shit.  
> Mon Dieu: My God.  
> Tu peux me laisser faire ça. Et ça: You could let me do this. And this.  
> Jusqu‘à ce que je ne me souvienne plus de mon proper nom: Until I can't even remember my own name.  
> Rien. continue juste à faire ça: Nothing. Just keep doing that.  
> C’est un bon idée: That's a good idea.  
> Tu vas le faire: Will you do it?  
> Prends-moi. N‘importe quoi que tu veux faire: Take me. Anything you want.  
> N'importe quoi?: Anything?  
> Toujours: Always.  
> Attends. Je veux te voir: Wait. I want to see you.  
> Je t'aime: I love you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras meets Grantaire's friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so very sorry for the long wait. There was writers block, then school, then a bunch of other stuff, but I think I'm getting back into the story so hopefully there won't be such a long wait next time.  
> This chapter is shorter and uses more French, because we're talking about a group of francophones here, of course there's going to be more French. Translations are at the end.  
> Beta'd by my lovely partner Meeni (demonsonthemoon.tumblr.com). (Yes we're dating now, which is kind of ironic because we're in a long distance relationship and we bonded over this fic)  
> visit me on tumblr (montparn-assbutt.tumblr.com) for horrible tagging systems and occasional poetry, art, and updates on my writers block. or to just say hi. please just say hi.

  
_Day Three_   
_Paris, France_   
_Jardins des Tuileries_   


Enjolras and Grantaire arrived at the park hand in hand. They walked until they found Grantaire’s friends lounging in a half circle on the grass. Jehan was playing with Éponine’s hair, whose head was in his lap. His hair was braided again, with small flowers entangled within. He was wearing a polka-dotted tank top with a navy cardigan and floral skinny jeans. Éponine was gesturing wildly, almost hitting Jehan’s face a couple times. When a hand came too close to Jehan’s nose, Feuilly grabbed it and carefully set it on her stomach, patting it twice before withdrawing his hand.

  
Cosette and Marius were sitting cross-legged across from each other, their knees barely touching. They were staring intently into the other’s eyes. Marius sporadically said words like, _“Chien,”_ or “ _La mer_ ,” and Cosette would shake her head slightly, a small smile on her lips.

  
Feuilly was the first to spot them and shouted, “ _Grantaire! Ici,_ ” waving them over. Feuilly helped Éponine up and attacked Grantaire with hugs and kisses. Jehan got up and warmly greeted Enjolras with a kiss on each cheek. Enjolras, not knowing what to do with the greeting just… stood there.

  
Jehan laughed. “You’ll have to get used to that. You’ll get it a lot in Paris.”

  
Feuilly and Éponine went to give Enjolras the same two kisses. Now he was more receptive and awkwardly tried to return them.

  
“ _Donc voici l‘américain à propos duquel tu m‘as appelé à deux heure du matin_ ,” Feuilly said, as they all sat down on the grass again.

  
“You called your friends at ungodly hours to talk about me?” Enjolras asked, turning to Grantaire with a small smile.

  
Grantaire took his hand and pressed his lips to it. “Maybe,” he muttered against the skin there.

  
Enjolras moved his hand aside and kissed Grantaire softly. Éponine, meanwhile, was darting her eyes confusedly back and forth between the two. When their lips broke apart she immediately asked, “ _Tu parles anglais, maintenant_?”

  
Jehan giggled in the background as Enjolras simply said, “ _Je lui apprendre_.”

  
Éponine’s confusion simply grew. “ _Et il parle français? Il y a deux nuits, il lisait le dictionnaire_.”

  
Grantaire shrugged. “ _Je lui apprends_.”

  
Éponine fell back, resting her head on Feuilly’s lap. “ _Je ne comprends pas_ ,” she muttered. “ _Deux jours. Deux jours et il parle anglais.” She turned to Grantaire. “Je sais que tu es intelligent, R, mais deux jours_.”

  
Jehan broke his laughter to say, “ _Enfin, il avait une motivation_.”

  
Just then they heard Marius shout, “ _Je t’aime_!” And Cosette tackled him to the ground and kissed him.

  
“ _Je t’aime_ ,” she said, their noses brushing.

  
Enjolras turned to Grantaire. “ _Qu’est-ce qu’ils font_?” he asked.

  
“They play a game where they try to guess what the other is thinking,” Grantaire said with a small smile.

  
“That’s almost _too_ sweet.”

  
“That’s why there are bets for when they’ll get married,” Grantaire said.

  
“ _Quel est le pari le plus proche_?”

  
“ _Trois mois._ ”

  
“ _Qui a fait ça_?”

  
Éponine raised her hand, sitting up. “ _Moi, parce que_ -”

  
Jehan covered her mouth with his hand. “Don’t let her get into her analysis or she’ll go on for four hours and end with a soliloquy on her lost, unrequited love for Marius.”

  
She glared spectacularly at Jehan who kissed her on her cheek. “ _Je t’aime, ‘Ponine, mais j’ai entendu le même discours cinq fois. Trois fois alors que tu étais bourrée_.”

  
Éponine elbowed him in the ribs with a smirk and fell back on his lap. Cosette and Marius had rolled over to the circle then. When Marius caught sight of Enjolras he sat up straight and very formally held out his hand.

  
Enjolras shook it firmly as Marius said, “Hello, I’m Marius Pontmercy and you must be Enjolras, the American Grantaire told us about. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  
Enjolras bit back a smile at the overwhelming formality of his introduction and simply said, “The pleasure’s mine,” and turning to Grantaire asked, “Also am I just known as ‘The American’? And how many people did you even tell about me?”

  
Grantaire shrugged. “I may have sent out a mass text.”

  
Enjolras shook his head fondly and kissed Grantaire softly. “Dork,” he whispered.

  
“Hm?”

  
Enjolras shook his head again, smiling, and reconnected their lips.

  
Jehan half squealed in delight in the background.

  
Éponine caught a picture on her phone as Feuilly rolled his eyes.

  
Cosette and Marius realized they had competition in the cute couple department.

 

They spent the rest of the day walking around. They occasionally stopped along the Seine when they passed it or at the numerous parks dotting the city. They ducked into a café for lunch where Enjolras got properly acquainted with Grantaire’s friends.

  
He and Jehan talked about the importance of media in modern culture, which somehow dissolved into talking about their shared adoration of Star Trek. He and Marius talked for a while and Enjolras’ awe at him teaching himself two languages muted the political disagreement they eventually found themselves in. They discovered Enjolras, Cosette, and Éponine together are like three powder kegs in a furnace. It became a rule to never let them move to anything more than favorite Disney movies. When Enjolras and Feuilly started talking about Feuilly’s life, his time in orphanages and foster homes, how he put himself through culinary school to end up working as a waiter until he finally saved enough money to open a bakery, Grantaire ended up in a fit of giggles because “There are literal stars in your eyes.”

  
When Enjolras was caught up in another conversation, Éponine turned to Grantaire. “ _Tu l’aimes_?” she asked quietly, eyebrows raised.

  
Grantaire nodded slowly. “ _Je l’aime. Je pense_.”

  
“ _Tu penses? Pourquoi juste ça_?”

  
“ _Je l‘aime autant que je le peux. C‘est complètement dingue, mais c‘est comme ça_.”

  
“ _Tu l‘aimes plus que tu ne le réalises_.”

  
Grantaire sighed and rested his head on Éponine’s shoulders. “ _Tu mets plus de fois en moi que tu ne devrais_.”

  
Éponine just shook her head.

 

They all eventually found themselves back at Jehan and Éponine’s apartment; it was the biggest of their homes, but in Paris “biggest” still means there’s difficulty in fitting seven people in a living room. This difficulty only increased when they decided to break out the beer and wine which caused Jehan to turn on music and spin around with Cosette. Feuilly and Éponine laughed jovially and Enjolras noticed Grantaire continually refilling his glass.

  
Grantaire led him outside and onto the balcony where he kissed him roughly. Enjolras reciprocated with equal passion, tasting the sour-sweet tang of wine on his tongue. Enjolras pulled away, leaning his forehead against Grantaire’s.

  
“How often do you drink a bottle and a half of wine?” Enjolras asked.

  
“ _Tu a compté_?”

  
“Answer the question. Please?”

  
“ _De temps en temps_.”

  
Enjolras huffed. “Please be serious.”

  
Jehan peeked out onto the balcony then. “Lovebirds, come in. We’re watching The Aristocats because it’s the best movie to watch while drunk.”

  
Enjolras sighed and Grantaire smiled, kissing Enjolras on the cheek. They walked inside and Grantaire plopped down in front of the couch. Enjolras rested his head in his lap, his eyebrows knitted together. His forehead smoothed out by the end of the movie, though, with Grantaire’s fingers combing through his hair, as they laughed when their friends started reenacting the movie using empty bottles as props.

  
They calmed down eventually. They were sprawled out in various positions of relaxation and Jehan was smoking a cigarette, causing the smoke to fill the small room.

  
He exhaled a large puff of smoke when he asked, “How long are you here for again?”

  
“ _Un mois_ ,” Enjolras answered simply.

  
Éponine took the cigarette from Jehan and pulled the smoke into her lungs before playfully blowing it into Feuilly’s face. “ _Un mois_?” She repeated. “ _Profite de ton séjour_.”

  
She offered the cigarette to Enjolras, who accepted it before handing it off to Grantaire. No one asked the question they were all thinking: “ _Et après le mois_?”

  
“And after the month?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chien; la mer: dog; the sea  
> Grantaire! Ici: Grantaire! Here.  
> Donc voici l‘américain à propos duquel tu m‘as appelé à deux heure du matin: so this is the American you called me at two AM to talk about.  
> Tu parles anglais, maintenant?: You speak English now?  
> Je lui apprendre/apprends: I taught him  
> Et il parle français? Il y a deux nuits, il lisait le dictionnaire: And he speaks French? Two nights ago he was reading from the dictionary.  
> Je ne comprends pas. Deux jours. Deux jours et il parle anglais. Je sais que tu es intelligent, R, mais deux jours: I don't understand. Two days. two days and he speaks English. I know you're smart, R, but two days.  
> Enfin, il avait une motivation: Well, he had motivation.  
> Qu'est-ce qu'ils font?: What are they doing?  
> Quel est le pari le plus proche: What's the closest bet?  
> Trois mois: Three months  
> Qui a fait ça?: Who made that?  
> Moi, parce que-: Me, because-  
> Je t’aime, ‘Ponine, mais j’ai entendu le même discours cinq fois. Trois fois alors que tu étais bourrée: I love you, Ponine, but I've heard this speech five times. Three times while you were drunk.  
> Tu l'aimes?: Do you love him?  
> Je l'aimes. Je pense: I love him. I think.  
> Tu penses? Pourquoi juste ça?: You think? Why just that?  
> Je l‘aime autant que je le peux. C‘est complètement dingue, mais c‘est comme ça: I love him as much as I can. I know it's crazy, but it's true.  
> Tu l‘aimes plus que tu ne le réalises: You love him more than you realize.  
> Tu mets plus de fois en moi que tu ne devrais: You put more faith in me than you should.  
> Tu a compté?: You kept count?  
> De temps en temps: From time to time.  
> Un mois: One month.  
> Profite de ton séjour: Enjoy your stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the poem "Young Man's Song" by W.B. Yeats.  
> "Abashed by that report,  
> For the heart cannot lie,  
> I knelt in the dirt.  
> And all shall bend the knee  
> To my offended heart  
> Until it pardon me."


End file.
